


Brighter Fires

by space_pilot3000



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: (some of it is onscreen but YMMV depending on if you see the apprentices as children), AU - Tigerclaw kills Bluestar, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cult Mentality, Dictatorship, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Morally Gray Tigerclaw, Mystery, Sandstar AU, ShadowClan Fireheart AU, i say morally gray but he did commit several murders, so maybe more like Sympathetic Tigerclaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 42
Words: 127,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_pilot3000/pseuds/space_pilot3000
Summary: "Prophecies are powerful, and they cannot be denied, but they are flexible. After all, a fire burns brighter in the dark than in the light of day, and certainly one needs it more." - Fleetwhisker--When Fireheart is framed for Bluestar's murder and exiled from ThunderClan, he finds a Clan living in sickness and starvation, in desperate need of a leader. Meanwhile, Sandstorm skirts Tigerstar's increasingly controlling rules in a desperate attempt to uncover the truth of her father's death and bring justice and peace back to ThunderClan.
Relationships: Dustpelt & Sandstorm (Warriors), Firestar & Graystripe (Warriors), Goldenflower/Tigerclaw (Warriors), Graystripe/Princess (Warriors)
Comments: 745
Kudos: 579





	1. Fireheart

The ThunderClan camp was under attack, beseiged by ShadowClan’s wayward rogues. Panting, Fireheart wondered for a moment how he would ever prove to the Clan that the attack had been planned by its supposedly-loyal deputy, Tigerclaw.

But then, he had no time to think; only to act. As he poised himself to re-enter the fray, he looked around the clearing for a target. Suddenly, a thought rang cold and clear through his mind.

_Where was Bluestar?_

In a heartbeat, Fireheart realized he couldn’t see Tigerclaw either. Every instinct told him danger was looming. He started towards the leader’s den, but as he did, Willowpelt stumbled into his path, engaged with a much bigger rogue. Fireheart leapt forward in her defense. He took a slash at the larger rogue. Working together silently, he and Willowpelt batted the rogue back until Fireheart’s path was clear, and he ran for the leader’s den.

As he approached the entrance, he heard the telltale rumbling of an angry snarl. “Remember me to StarClan, Bluestar.”

Heart thudding with panic, he raced around the corner, where he saw Bluestar pinned under Tigerclaw’s mighty weight. Though the deputy’s pelt was scored with fresh new cuts, they didn’t seem to matter at all, for his fangs had been sunk deep into Bluestar’s limp form.

“T-traitor!” Fireheart managed, leaping forward to bowl Tigerclaw off of Bluestar, but Tigerclaw simply batted him aside. Fireheart leapt again, and this time Tigerclaw let go of Bluestar’s scruff and stepped aside, letting Fireheart dash into her body.

She was, truly, dead. Forgetting for a moment about his enemy, Fireheart leaned down to be sure of it, his eyes pricking. Surely his mentor, his wise and seemingly immortal leader couldn’t be gone?

Reality came flying back as Tigerclaw pounced on him, pinning him onto the ground by the shoulders. The bigger tom batted Fireheart’s belly with his hindpaws. Pain lanced through him, but Fireheart could not tell how badly injured he was. Managing a hiss, he freed a forepaw and slashed it at the deputy’s throat – but Tigerclaw simply swung his head away and the blow caught nothing but fur.

“I’d like to flay you, Fireheart,” Tigerclaw growled. His voice was too low to hear without straining, and even though the aggression was palpable, so was the satisfaction. Fireheart winced away.

With a snarl, Tigerclaw smacked Fireheart across the face, claws unsheathed. Fireheart felt blood dripping from several cuts above his eyes toward the ground. He could already tell the injury would swell and bruise.

“I’d like to show you how a _real_ warrior fights,” Tigerclaw continued. “But I need you for one last thing.”

Fireheart’s pulse raced like a panicked hare. What could the intimidating tabby possibly mean? But as his mind started racing through the possibilities, a shadow fell over the entrance. _Could that be my savior?_

A motherly voice, edged with steel, called into the den, “Bluestar, we- Tigerclaw? Fireheart? What’s happened here?”

Goldenflower! Tigerclaw’s mate, so not his best bet, but regardless, Fireheart tried to call out for help. But as his throat moved to speak, he felt Tigerclaw’s unsheathed claws pressing against his throat. A veiled threat. If Fireheart tried to call out, he would be killed. _What was Tigerclaw’s game?_

Tigerclaw cried out to his mate. “Goldenflower! Something awful’s happened!”

Goldenflower’s breath quickened. “Did he-? Is she-? I thought she had more lives?”

“So did I,” Tigerclaw said, his eyes round and wide with false shock. “She must have told this traitor the truth – so he used it against her.”

 _That’s what he’s doing!_ Fireheart’s mouth went dry. Would the Clan believe Tigerclaw? Could they?

“I- I can’t believe..” Goldenflower stammered, and Fireheart’s hope flared. “I didn’t- What do we do?”

“What were you going to tell Bluestar?” Tigerclaw asked promptly.

“We’re losing the battle,” Goldenflower said. “I was going to say we needed her help to defend the nursery.. oh, oh StarClan.”

“Hold the traitor. I’ll go,” Tigerclaw said. In a flash the two cats had switched places, and Tigerclaw was gone.

Goldenflower’s hold on Fireheart’s shoulders was much gentler than Tigerclaw’s, but shock prevented Fireheart from speaking. The golden queen’s eyes were filled with disbelief, grief, and a startling coldness.

“Goldenflower, I didn’t-” Fireheart choked, but the golden queen hissed.

“You’ll have your say in front of the Clan,” she said. Fireheart was silent.

The sounds of the battle in the camp were quickly extinguished, and soon Tigerclaw reappeared with Darkstripe at his side. “Goldenflower, go rest, my love,” Tigerclaw said softly. “You need it.”

“I’ll stay and see what’s done with the traitor,” she spat.

“Very well,” Tigerclaw replied. He nodded to Darkstripe, who grabbed Fireheart by the scruff. _Ouch!_ For a moment, Fireheart was tempted to turn his claws on Darkstripe and flee; but then, surely if he could say his piece in front of the Clan they’d believe him?

He knew he looked wretched as he stumbled out of the den, in front of the Highrock; his fur was laced with scratches, his eye had swollen and half-closed. Darkstripe hissed and prodded him, urging him to move faster. When the sharp pokes had stopped, Fireheart collapsed on the ground.

The camp was filled with injured warriors, and Yellowfang and Cinderpaw were weaving between them, treating their injuries. Cinderpaw’s eyes came to rest on Fireheart, and she gasped, running over.

“What happened? Are you all right?” she said. “Here, I have poppy seeds-”

Darkstripe snapped at her. Cinderpaw jumped back, dropping the poppy seeds. “Don’t give him any of those herbs,” the dark warrior ordered. “He’s a traitor.”

Cinderpaw paused. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Fireheart and Darkstripe. “A.. traitor? _Fireheart_ is?”

Darkstripe shook his head. “Tigerclaw will explain soon.”

Cinderpaw looked askance to Fireheart, but he knew he couldn’t speak or Darkstripe would have his pelt. He shook his head at her, dropping his eyes to the ground, and she scurried away.

Tigerclaw, who had reached the top of the Highrock, yowled. The Clan’s heads turned to him. “I present to you Fireheart, now a prisoner,” he said.

A chorus of worried mews interrupted him. Warriors looked at one another in surprise and dismay.

“A… prisoner?” some cat piped up. Fireheart strained his neck to see through the crowd, and realized Sandstorm had risen from the back, her brow arched in skepticism. “Fireheart is a loyal cat. He was Bluestar’s own apprentice. What has he done? And where _is_ Bluestar?”

“Just now, during the rogue attack, Fireheart killed her,” Tigerclaw said simply.

The Clan burst into yowls or shock, anger and despair. One of the elders called, “But she wasn’t on her last life!”

Yellowfang stepped forward. “No, she was. Cinderpaw and I knew.”

“Fireheart must have known too, since he attacked her,” Tigerclaw added in a growl. “I came in to ask Bluestar to help with the fighting, but came upon her body. Then the traitor leapt on me, too. It is only thanks to StarClan’s will that I stopped him.”

The sounds of protest and disbelief swelled louder, but there was an angry undertone. Fireheart shrunk. _How could things have gone so wrong?_

“There must be some mistake!” Graystripe yowled, pushing through the crowd. “Fireheart would never!”

“Then what do you think happened?” Tigerclaw snarled. “Perhaps you were in cahoots with him. After all, you’re a traitor too!”

A chorus of mews rose in agreement. The elders eyed Graystripe suspiciously, and he backed away from them.

“How do we know what happened when all we’ve heard is what you’ve said? Let him speak in his defense – it’s only fair!” Graystripe retorted.

“Why should we have to listen to the words of a traitor?” Longtail said. “I say drive him out now!”

Sandstorm got to her paws, and the Clan quieted. Despite the situation, there was a rush of pride in Fireheart’s chest as he realized how well respected his friend had become in the Clan, and how quickly. But the happiness quickly dropped away, replaced by a shiver of apprehension as he noticed the cold look in her green eyes.

“Graystripe is right. Even if Fireheart is guilty, we must hear him speak. It’s the honorable thing to do,” she said.

“Very well,” Tigerclaw assented.

Fireheart’s heart soared. Finally, he could tell the Clan the truth! There would be no more of this suspicion! He could only hope they could drive Tigerclaw out once he was finished speaking.

“It wasn’t me who killed Bluestar,” he said, sitting up straighter. “It was Tigerclaw! He’s wanted to be leader for moons.”

“If that’s so, why hasn’t he done anything before now?” Darkstripe jeered.

“He has,” Fireheart snapped. “Do you all remember when Redtail died? Tigerclaw claimed that Oakheart killed him, but he was lying. Tigerclaw himself killed Redtail, using the battle as a cover story!”

Murmurs of dissent traveled through the crowd, but only Longtail spoke up. “How would you know? You weren’t even a part of the Clan for that battle?”

“I know, but I spoke to someone who was,” Fireheart said. “Ravenpaw was there, and witnessed the whole thing.”

“Ravenpaw’s dead!” Dustpelt said, pushing his way forward through the crowd. “You of all cats ought to know that.”

Fireheart shook his head. “Actually… he’s not. I helped him run away after Tigerclaw tried to kill him for knowing too much.” 

Dustpelt snarled, and jumped. Before Fireheart could react, the brown warrior had him pinned against the Highrock by the shoulders. “This is ridiculous!” Dustpelt spat. “We all know my brother is dead. We held vigil for him. You can’t try to use his death against us like this – it’s sick!”

“Dustpelt, calm down,” Sandstorm said, darting forward. “There’s no use. Let him go.”

Heart racing, Fireheart didn’t move as Dustpelt let him down and moved back, with Sandstorm, to where the rest of the Clan sat.

“That’s enough of this,” Darkstripe said, looking up to Tigerclaw on the Highrock.

“No, wait!” Fireheart cried. He had to prove himself to the Clan! “I have more proof. Oakheart wasn’t killed by Redtail, he was killed by a rock fall. RiverClan warriors told me so! And Tigerclaw has already tried to kill Bluestar by setting a trap for her, but Cinderpaw fell into it instead!”

Cinderpaw’s eyes rounded with shock. “Fireheart, I know you feel bad about what happened to me, but it was never any sort of trap. It was just a sad accident,” she said.

 _No! This is going all wrong!_ Fireheart’s jaws parted to speak once more, but with as he tried to stand, he found himself woozy. His scratches, untreated, had lost a lot of blood. For a moment, his vision browned out, and a pounding found its way into his ears, for a moment preventing him from hearing any cats’ words.

“Yes, that’s enough of this nonsense,” Tigerclaw said. “Fireheart, as acting leader of ThunderClan, I sentence you to exile. You will leave ThunderClan territory now, and if any cat sees you here after sunrise tomorrow, they’ll have my permission to kill you. Any cat fool enough to remain loyal to you and follow you will be treated the same,” he added, raising his head and looking around the clearing.

Fireheart tried once more to stand, his legs shaking with the effort. He wondered if he could even make it off ThunderClan territory by sunrise – and then wondered if that might be what Tigerclaw intended. _‘I’d like to flay you, Fireheart.’_

He walked by the throng of cats slowly and painfully, aware of their cold gazes on him. To his surprise, one cat stood.

Graystripe. Of course.

His friend rushed over to support him and lead him towards the gorse tunnel. “You don’t have to do this,” Fireheart said quietly. “You don’t have to leave the Clan – and your kits – for me.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Graystripe said simply, and continued walking. After a pause, he added, “Besides. Traitors should stick together.”


	2. Sandstorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit short but we're not gonna talk about that shhh

Sandstorm couldn’t sleep that night. Something hard and cold had settled into her belly, as though she’d swallowed one of the smooth stones from the riverbank. Around her, the Clan slumbered, but Fireheart and Graystripe’s nests lay cold, the moss still smelling of them slightly.

Dustpelt slept fitfully, but he did not wake as she stood and exited the den, no longer willing to pretend she was sleeping.

Tigerclaw had already named Darkstripe the deputy, as every cat knew he would. On top of that, Swiftpaw, Thornpaw and Brightpaw would almost certainly be made warriors as soon as Tigerclaw was able to make them, as every cat knew they were probably ready. StarClan only knew why Bluestar had put the ceremony off.

Already, things were changing. For the better, maybe. The apprentices deserved to have their ceremony.

Sandstorm looked to the stars, her fur fluffing against the cold night air. They twinkled back at her wordlessly. If StarClan wished to give her guidance, they would; instead, they said nothing. Perhaps that meant she should just go back to sleep.

She didn’t know why she felt so uneasy. Two traitors had been purged from the Clan, and ThunderClan was being led by a strong, wise cat. But under Sandstorm’s pelt, something prickled. Her throat was tight. Her stomach turned over.

She slipped out into the forest, nodding to Mousefur, who was on guard, and her paws took her down the path to the Sunningrocks without her thinking about it. When she arrived there, the stones felt cool and reassuring under her feet, and she settled herself against the smooth surface, watching the river ripple by her. There, Sandstorm finally fell asleep.

Her dream took her back to camp, but she was a kit once more, playing moss-ball with Dustkit, Ravenkit and Graykit.

“Over here!” Ravenkit squeaked. Sandkit realized she had the ball, and lobbed it over to him, giggling as it flew over his head.

“Sandkit! A word with you, please?” came a familiar meow from across the camp. Sandkit raised her head to see her father, Redtail, waiting there expectantly for her.

“Coming!” she called back, and raced across the camp as fast as she could towards him.

But she went a bit too fast; she couldn’t slow down in time, and barreled straight into Redtail’s soft belly-fur, where he caught and steadied her with his paw. Her father laughed, and Sandkit couldn’t help but laugh along. She looked up at him, only to realize her father’s eyes were dark. She could see the forest through him. He didn’t look the way she remembered. A chill ran up Sandkit’s spine.

“Papa, you look funny,” Sandkit mewed, suddenly frightened.

“All is not what it seems,” Redtail said gravely. “We’re all counting on you, Sandstorm.”

In a flash, Sandstorm remembered that this was a dream. Her father must be contacting her from StarClan.

“Papa…” she said, overcome.

“A path has been taken that should have stayed untouched,” Redtail said. There was a note of urgency in his voice. “A fire has been snuffed out which should have stayed alight. You are ThunderClan’s last hope.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sandstorm said. She would do anything for her Clan, but she didn’t know what Redtail was talking about.

But he just shook his head. “I don’t have that sort of foresight, my dear. I am but a spectre.”

“Aren’t you a warrior of StarClan?” Sandstorm said. Her fur stood on end as Redtail hesitated, then shook his head.

“I cannot move on until things are set right. What it is that is not right, I cannot tell you directly, but all is not what it seems. Something happened today that never should have. The past cannot be rewritten, but if fate continues down this unknown path, horrible things could happen. ThunderClan itself could be lost. You are the last cat which can save it.”

So something was wrong, as Sandstorm had suspected as she had snuck out of camp. Many, many things were wrong. But she didn’t know what they were, or what to do.

“Can’t you tell me anything, Papa?” she said.

“Spirits can’t interfere much; not even StarClan can break that rule,” he said regretfully. “Haven’t you wondered why medicine cats’ omens are so vague?”

Sandstorm sighed and leaned into his soft fur, relishing her father’s comforting scent. It had been so long since she had seen him. Her father softened against her. In Sandstorm’s ear, he said, “I can tell you one thing, though.”

She leaned back to look at his face. Redtail stared back. “You must locate Ravenpaw.”

_Ravenpaw?_

_But he’s buried in ShadowClan territory!_

Sandstorm wanted to protest, but instead her eyes blinked open to the early morning light washing over her fur. _That’s right, I fell asleep at Sunningrocks…_

Ravenpaw, hmm? Maybe Redtail had meant that if she could go to Ravenpaw’s grave, she could speak to his spirit. But Sandstorm was uneasy about the idea about trespassing on ShadowClan territory.

And yet. Her father had told her all of ThunderClan was counting on her. Sandstorm was not the sort of cat to ignore orders from the dead (even if she had never received them before.)

She would have to meet with some ShadowClan cat at a Gathering and convince them to allow her to trespass, to see her Clanmate’s body. That was all there was to it.


	3. Tigerclaw

As Tigerclaw opened his eyes, he was greeted with the familiar sight of Fourtrees. The night was dark - a new moon - but the sky glittered faintly through the trees, Silverpelt’s stars as beautiful and persistent as ever. His pelt tingled with anticipation as, one by one, the stars began to spiral through the leaves towards him.

All at once, the warriors of Starclan were stalking towards Tigerclaw, with pelts of white flame. They smelled of ice and fire and night all at once. Their raw power settled in Tigerclaw’s bones. He was tempted to jerk away from the Moonstone, to flee and leave these beings behind. But they were the ones who would give him his nine lives, and secure his leadership.

“Welcome, Tigerclaw,” came a voice from the ranks. It sounded almost as though every warrior of Starclan were speaking at once, and yet, in a different way, it sounded achingly familiar. It sounded like a cat Tigerclaw had put from his mind long ago. “Are you ready to receive your nine lives?”

Tigerclaw dug his claws into the ground, corrected his posture, and lifted his chin. “I am.”

Out from the crowd of glittering cats came a familiar dark, reddish cat. He bore a familiar set of tabby stripes that Tigerclaw knew were reflected in his own pelt. He had already been old when Tigerclaw knew him, but now he was young and strong, his pelt glossy and thick-furred. His voice was the one which had stood out from the crowd.

_Pinestar._

“Hello, father,” Tigerclaw managed, remaining rooted to the ground.

Pinestar dipped his head. “I know what you think of me, son, as all Clan cats think of me. But I made the best choice for myself. And today I am here to grant you the first of your nine lives.”

With that, he leaned in and touched his nose to Tigerclaw’s forehead. Agony shook through his body, as though he was being torn from limb to limb, but at every moment he was forced to hold himself together; he needed to shrink away, and yet he was still unable to move. If this was what it felt like to receive one life, how would he bear nine?

“With this life, I give you the nobility fit of a leader,” Pinestar said. “Use it well in defense of your Clan, my son.”

Despite his shaking limbs, Tigerclaw had to resist the urge to hiss after him as his father disappeared back into the crowd of cats. Another cat rose to replace him. Her dark charcoal pelt was covered in darker spots, and her yellow eyes glowed in affection. Tigerclaw’s heart lifted as he realized it was his mother, Leopardfoot. 

Tigerclaw lowered his head so she could touch her nose to it. Leopardfoot murmured, “With this life I give you protection. Use it well to care for your Clan as a mother does for her kits.”

Tigerclaw thought for a moment that this life might be gentler, but all at once a bolt of rage and ferocity ran through him with the strength of Tigerclan. His blood pulsed with fury, and as it ebbed, he was suddenly exhausted.

Leopardfoot licked his ear, then turned away before Tigerclaw could speak to her.

But she was replaced with yet another familiar pelt. As Thistleclaw made his way forward, Tigerclaw realized his old mentor’s pelt had been scrubbed of its battle scars, replaced by a proud cleanliness it hadn’t seen in many moons when Tigerclaw had been alive. He recalled his mentor’s depression at his mate’s death, which had lasted seasons, and realized that they must have been reunited in the afterlife.

Thistleclaw wasted no time in touching his nose to Tigerclaw’s ear. “With this life I give you tireless energy. Use it well to outlast your enemies in battle,” he said gruffly.

All at once a bolt of electricity coursed through Tigerclaw’s body. He felt wind flattening his fur against his body, as though he were racing through the forest or haring over the moor. Despite the exhaustion of his previous life, he felt all at once energized, as though he could keep going forever.

Thistleclaw turned, and Tigerclaw’s heart jumped. His old mentor had been more of a father to him than Pinestar ever had. Tigerclaw called, “Wait, Thistleclaw!”

The gray-and-white tom paused, looking askance, and Tigerclaw hesitated. “…thank you. For everything.”

Thistleclaw’s mouth quirked upwards in a smile, but he said nothing, only taking his place once more in Starclan’s glowing ranks.

Another cat rose and began to make their way toward Tigerclaw, and he realized that he did not recognize them. It appeared to be a small tom-kit, perhaps four moons old at most, and his black pelt was broken by a single white stripe over his back.

“You didn’t know me in life, but my name is Badgerfang,” the kitten explained. “I was a kit who was apprenticed early under Brokenstar’s rule. I died in battle, but my dying wish was to become a warrior, named for my mentor, Flintfang.”

Tigerclaw dipped his head to the kit, lowering it enough to allow the small cat to touch its nose to his head.

“With this life I give you mentoring,” Badgerfang said.“Train your young cats with wisdom and patience, and teach them to know their own strengths and rely on others. Use it well to raise strong warriors for your Clan.”

Within a moment, a pang of anguish rang within Tigerclaw’s body so deeply he thought his bones were crying out for mercy. He felt as though he were being torn apart by a pair of massive claws, eaten alive by a dog; his vision was marked with red. He realized he must be feeling what Badgerfang had in his last moments.

_I will train my apprentices so well that none of them shall ever die before receiving his warrior name,_ Tigerclaw vowed instantly.

Badgerfang had already disappeared, replaced by another approaching cat who Tigerclaw did not recognize. He was a ruddy brown tabby, but his most prominent feature by far was the light pink scar that ran from the bottom of his chin, up his face to the base of his ear, which was split in half in presumably a continuation of the same scar.

“My name is Redscar,” the tom said. “I was a ShadowClan medicine cat long before your time. When our Clan was without a leader and deputy, I told our next leader that StarClan had chosen her. But I faked that sign. ShadowClan needed a leader, and so I gave them one.”

This registered with Tigerclaw as a dull prick of surprise, but he had long thought that medicine cats must fake some omens to advance their agendas. He leaned forward and dipped his head slightly so the medicine cat could reach.

“With this life, I give you certainty, and loyalty to that which you know to be best for your Clan. Listen to StarClan, but do not let it deafen your senses. Your job is to lead the living, not follow the dead,” Redscar said, and leaned forward.

Suddenly, Tigerclaw felt as strong and immovable as stone. He flexed his claws, feeling certain that if he did not move he would become one with the mountains. This was strength.

Redscar stepped away, and Tigerclaw’s heart sank as he recognized a familiar large, golden profile replacing him. His sixth life would be delivered by Lionheart. Surely the former ThunderClan deputy had seen his treachery upon reaching StarClan.

But if Lionheart held any ill will toward Tigerclaw, he did not show it. He merely put his nose to his old friend’s head, and intoned, “I give you a life for courage. Use it well in defense of your Clanmates, Tigerclaw, and stay true.”

Liquid energy ran through Tigerclaw’s body, searing him and making his fur stand on end. His mind was filled with visions of battle and chaos swirling around him. As the fog lifted, Lionheart had already gone.

For a moment, there was no movement, and Tigerclaw wondered if something had been interrupted or gone wrong. But then, he realized he was looking too high. Approaching him was a small black she-kit, still young enough to smell of milk. For some reason, she seemed oddly familiar to him.

She tipped her head at him. “Tsk, Tigerclaw. Have you forgotten your own blood?”

Nursery memories came rushing back all at once, and Tigerclaw remembered his two sisters, too weak to survive long. “Nightkit!” he exclaimed. He had not expected to see her here; some part of him had always thought the spirits of kits must be too small to make the journey to StarClan.

Yet here she was. He was happy to lower himself almost completely to the ground so she could touch her nose to his head. It was then, and only then, that Tigerclaw noticed a cold fire in her eyes that suddenly set him on edge.

“I give you a life for compassion,” Nightkit said, her kitten-squeak almost disturbingly well-articulated. “Use it well for all the elders, kits, and sick of your Clan. Protect those weaker than yourself, my brother. Protect those who are like me.”

This life burned him like ice, more painful than any of the rest had been, and yet all Tigerclaw could think of was the cold, almost vengeful look in his sister’s eyes. Was this a reprimand for his future plans? A warning of some sort?

He could not think on it long before Nightkit was turning away, replaced by an even more chilling silhouette.

Redtail approached, his distinctive tail held in the air like a plume of smoke. His face was dark with betrayal.

“Redtail-” Tigerclaw began, knowing even his silver tongue could not save things but desperate to try.

“Quiet,” Redtail ordered. Tigerclaw obeyed, and lowered his head to the tortoiseshell’s height. He braced himself for the pain to come.

“With this life I give you friendship,” Redtail said. His voice was cold. “There is more to be gained from the cats around you than advantages and allies, Tigerclaw. Remember the power of your bonds, and remain loyal to them even when times are dire.”

As the life coursed through Tigerclaw’s body, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Redtail’s. The life felt like red-hot betrayal burning him from nose to tail-tip, a hot sting like a wasp’s attack but a thousand times hotter, a heartbreak like one he had never known. He felt the shock, disbelief, and fear that he knew had defined Redtail’s last moments.

“We were friends, once,” Tigerclaw said, half to himself, as the pain ebbed.

Redtail regarded him with cool disdain. “We could still have been, had you been a better cat.”

The former ThunderClan deputy disappeared, leaving Tigerclaw to steady himself, and wonder who would deliver his last life.

As a blue-gray pelt began to rise in the back of the crowd, his heart sank, but he flexed his claws and waited.

Tigerclaw blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was at the bottom of Highstones, suddenly far from the rest of StarClan. At the top, Bluestar sat, her muzzle pointed to the sky as though she was watching the moon. She made no move to come down and so, irritated, Tigerclaw scrambled up the rocks to join her.

“I had wondered if I would see you tonight,” he panted.

Bluestar turned to face him, and the iciness in her blue eyes struck a jolt of fear through him. _She’s here to give you your last life, you fool,_ he thought to himself, suppressing a growl.

“Believe you me, if it was up to me you wouldn’t have,” she said coldly. “And yet, StarClan does not write the laws of the cosmos, we must simply obey them. Despite all else, you are the rightful leader of my Clan.”

At her words, Tigerclaw couldn’t help but feel a pinprick of smugness.

“And I have never wanted anything but the best for my Clan,” Bluestar continued. Though she was shorter than him, she seemed to look down her muzzle at Tigerclaw. “Your fate and the fate of the cats I have given my life to protect are now entwined; destiny demands that you take your place above them. And as your former leader, it is my sacred duty to give you your final life.”

Despite himself, Tigerclaw’s fur prickled with anticipation. After this, nothing could stop him from leading ThunderClan to greatness.

Bluestar leaned closer. “Each leader must receive the same lives, Tigerclaw. Not many cats know that.” Her voice dropped low. “I laid claim to the privilege of giving you a life for justice.”

A final flash of agony filled Tigerclaw’s body as her nose-tip touched his head, shaking him to his core. He felt Bluestar’s fierce ambition, her anguish at losing her kits, her faith restored as she found solace in the support of senior warriors - like himself. And her final moments of terror and fury at his betrayal. Most of all, he felt a cold, looming presence in the back of his mind, growing stronger and more menacing by the moment, more frightening than anything he had known before. His muscles ached as though he was running tirelessly from an unknown enemy, one that would destroy him if he stopped. The anguish filled his body, growing more and more powerful, and Tigerclaw thought he could not contain it. Just as he thought he must yowl his pain or die, the feeling finally began to ebb, and he collapsed, no longer able to support himself.

Bluestar looked down at him, no sympathy in her gaze. “May it serve you well, Tigerstar,” she said.

And then, all was black.


	4. Fireheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried editing this a bit this morning but I was exhausted from staying up for caucus results so like if something doesn't make sense, that's on me, you caught me slipping, please point it out

The sun had long set by the time Fireheart and Graystripe reached the outside edge of the territory. “Where are we even going?” Graystripe asked.

Fireheart felt weaker and weaker by the second, but he managed to pull himself together enough to answer. “My sister… Princess. She lives near here. There’s an aspen tree.”

Graystripe nodded, and Fireheart didn’t miss the worried look in his friend’s eyes. They walked along the fence until Graystripe spotted the aspen.

“Wait here. I’ll go in to talk to her,” Graystripe said. Fireheart wanted to protest, but his muscles screamed. The scratch over his eye was throbbing, and that whole side of his face had swelled. He would not be capable of jumping the fence on his own.

He didn't realize he'd drifted off to sleep until Graystripe nudged him. “Come on, Fireheart. Princess showed me a hole in the fence. We’ll get you in through there and we can sleep in her bushes.”

Fireheart followed obediently, entering the garden. Princess waited there. When she saw him, her face fell. She rushed forward to nuzzle him.

“Oh, Fireheart! Graystripe said you looked bad, but he didn’t say how bad,” she said, her voice tinged with sorrow. “You poor thing!” To Graystripe, she added, “Are you sure we can’t have my Twolegs take him to the vet? He could use the help.”

“The Cutter? No, we can’t.”

Fireheart leaned into Princess’s soft fur. “You should have been more careful with Tigerclaw after what he did to Cinderpaw. You knew how dangerous he was,” she chided gently.

Fireheart shook his head. “There was no ‘careful’ about it," he rasped. "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Princess. And I was just the cat he wanted out most. He would have found some way to make me a traitor eventually.”

“And he’d’ve kicked me out within the half-moon if I hadn’t gone with you,” Graystripe said.

Princess shook her head disapprovingly. “You two are too nonchalant. I mean, look at the state of you! And where will you go next? I can’t hide you in my bushes forever; my housefolk have a gardener.”

Fireheart looked at Graystripe, who gave him an equally puzzled look in return. They hadn’t even thought about it. “I don’t suppose we could go to RiverClan?” Fireheart said.

Graystripe hesitated. “Crookedstar would probably let us stay, but… I’m not sure I want to stick around once Leopardfur’s in charge, and that time is coming sooner rather than later.” The dreadful thought hung in the air.

“Figure it out in the morning,” Princess said. She nuzzle Fireheart once more, then stretched her neck out to lick Graystripe’s ear. “I’ll bring you two out some food soon. Until then, get some rest.”

Fireheart was more than happy to obey her.

—

The morning light woke Fireheart slowly and comfortably from his nest between the bush. His stomach rumbled - he must have slept through Princess bringing them food last night. Graystripe’s scent had gone cold, so Fireheart assumed he was hunting.

He slipped out from beneath the bushes, stretching out in the sun. For a moment, he could almost pretend that yesterday hadn’t happened - that he was only sunning for a moment in the middle of ThunderClan camp before fetching Cloudpaw for training or being sent on a morning patrol.

His eye throbbed.

It wasn’t yesterday. He was alone in a Twoleg garden. His only two friends in the world were Graystripe and Princess - and he didn’t even know what had happened to Cloudpaw, or what would happen to him, since the apprentice hadn’t made it back to camp in time for his ‘betrayal.’

Movement at the clear entrance to the Twoleg den sent him racing back beneath the bush, heart racing. From his vantage point he couldn’t see the hairless creatures, but they seemed to be purring. After a moment, the branches on the bush started rustling.

“Fireheart!” Princess meowed. “It’s me. My Twoleg was just letting me out.”

Fireheart turned around, relieved. He stretched forward to nuzzle his sister. “Good morning.”

She grimaced. “You’re looking pretty bad. I know you and Graystripe said you didn’t want to go to RiverClan, but you’d better find some cat who can help you soon or you’re only going to get worse.”

Fireheart came out from the bush, stretching without acknowledging the truth behind his sister’s comment. His muscles ached from fighting. All he wanted was to rest, but he and Graystripe needed to keep moving and find someplace truly safe.

“Where will you go?” Princess pressed.

Startled, Fireheart stared at her for a moment. Had she somehow known what he was thinking? No, probably not - it was an obvious question. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “No cat will want me. I’m injured, of no use to anyone. Graystripe can offer himself up as a hunter but - don’t tell him I said this, but he’s no Sandstorm. And his track record isn’t great.”

“What do you mean?”

Fireheart realized he had never told Princess about Silverstream. “He… he had kits, with a cat he wasn’t supposed to. It’s the sort of mistake that makes a Clan think twice about taking you in.”

“Isn’t killing your leader a bit worse?” Princess said, eyeing him. “Not that you did, but… you’d better find somewhere to stay before Tigerclaw tells everyone what you’ve supposedly done.”

Fireheart’s shoulders drooped. Princess was right, but it was just one more thing to worry about, and something he and Graystripe hadn’t even thought of. “Tigerstar,” he said on instinct.

“What?”

“By now he’s probably Tigerstar,” he said. “He won’t have hesitated in going to the Moonstone to get his nine lives.”

Princess smiled sadly. “That’ll just make him harder to evade, won’t it?”

“Yes,” Fireheart said. “How do you always think of things I don’t?”

“I’m your sister. It’s pretty much my job, genetically,” Princess said more lightly. She reached out her paw, seemingly to swat him, but apparently thought better of it and withdrew. “Think how smart you’d be if you had a council of me and all our littermates to advise you,” she teased.

“I wish you could come with us,” Fireheart said. 

Princess sighed. She went silent for a long moment. “I don’t know that that’s the best thing. I’m not fit for this life like you are, Fireheart.”

He didn’t know what to say about that, so he stayed quiet. For a moment, Fireheart wondered how Princess would have felt if she’d never had her kits. She’d been so young… not young for a kittypet queen, but Clan cats usually waited several seasons after earning their warrior names to have kits, while Princess had been still kitten-fluffy when he met her for the first time in the forest with her belly swollen. 

Could she have been a warrior, had things been different? Or was she not fit for forest life, as she said?

Fireheart shook his head. It wasn’t useful to dwell on these thoughts, not when he and Graystripe had to start working on finding a new place to stay.

Just then, there was a scrabbling at the fence. Fireheart glanced up to see Graystripe reaching the top. Beside him was a small, familiar-looking brown-and-white cat.

“Littlepaw?” he said.

—

“I ran into your friend here hunting on ShadowClan territory,” Littlecloud growled not long later. The four cats had settled under a bush in the woods to talk, as Princess was certain her housefolk would not miss four full-grown cats in their garden. They were a few tree-lengths into ShadowClan, but the scent was so faint, Fireheart couldn’t blame Graystripe for not realizing and hunting here.

As he finished speaking, Littlecloud’s shoulders drooped. “Not that it’s much our territory anymore,” he admitted. “Runningnose hardly sends out patrols.”

“Ruh’ing ‘ose?” Graystripe exclaimed. His mouth was full of a pigeon he’d caught and brought back to share - after Princess refused her piece he’d claimed it.

“He doesn’t have his nine lives?” Princess said, baffled.

“Er.. He’s not even the leader,” Fireheart explained, mind running. Why would Runningnose be in charge of ShadowClan? “Runningnose is ShadowClan’s medicine cat.”

Littlecloud shook his head. “I… I shouldn’t tell you, but…” He eyed Graystripe’s mouth full of pigeon with obvious envy. “Well, we could use a hunter like you, and you said you’re not with ThunderClan anymore.”

Graystripe scowled, swallowing hard, and drew himself closer to Fireheart. “Like I said earlier, we’re a package deal.”

Fireheart’s heart warmed and lifted as his friend's pelt pressed against his own.

Littlecloud's eyes darted back and forth between them, then hungrily again at the pigeon. “I’m just a junior warrior, so I can’t make decisions, but… I’d bet Runningnose would be willing to treat your friend in exchange for prey.”

Fireheart glanced at Graystripe, who was already looking at him. He knew they were both thinking the same thing - was it a good idea to align themselves with ShadowClan, who they’d battled so many times? And if they did, could their former friends and Clanmates ever trust them again? And could they even trust Littlecloud - or was this somehow a trap?

“What are you waiting for?” Princess exclaimed impatiently. “Take his deal! You can’t stay in my garden forever and it’s not like you’re spoiled for choice, here!”

“She’s right," Fireheart muttered to Graystripe. Turning to Littlecloud, he added, "We'll come with you.”

Graystripe tensed, obviously nervous, but Fireheart ran his rail over his friend’s back. They stood to leave, but first Fireheart reached out to nose Princess’s cheek.

“I’ll come back to see you before the half-moon,” he said. “We’ll be okay, promise.”

“I know,” she said. Her eyes shone with affection. “You’re both strong warriors. Don’t push yourself to come see me if you’re not well enough yet.”

Fireheart nuzzled her, then turned to leave. Taking this as a signal, both Littlecloud and Graystripe left the bush and set off. But Fireheart hesitated. Turning, he said, “Princess…”

“Go,” she said. She smiled at him, but her eyes were sad. “I’m not cut out for this life, like I said.”

Fireheart dipped his head. “May StarClan light your path.” Without waiting for a reply, he set off for ShadowClan camp.


	5. Sandstorm

Sandstorm rose early the next morning after returning from Sunningrocks. She was exhausted from her night of fitful sleep, but even the slightest noise was enough to wake her and when the branches of the camp wall rustled around sunrise, she gave up on sleeping and stood to greet her new leader.

Tigerstar stood proud in the middle of camp as she came out, his eyes shining as he surveyed every den. Next to him, Yellowfang stared at him for a moment, then snorted and limped off towards her den. Sandstorm wondered whether becoming leader really changed a cat’s perspective so much - or did Tigerstar have big plans he finally had the chance to execute, now that he was leader?

She simply hoped it didn’t involve restructuring the camp. Sandstorm hated construction work. Dustpelt always managed to rope her into it, but she much preferred working out in the forest.

Sandstorm trotted up to Tigerstar and dipped her head. “Congratulations,” she said. To her surprise, as she dipped her head, she felt the great tabby rest his chin on her head in an almost fatherly fashion.

“Thank you,” he rumbled. “I’m looking forward to this new era. You’re a strong warrior, Sandstorm,” Tigerstar began.

Unsure what he was building to, she stayed silent.

“I know you were good friends with Fireheart,” Tigerstar said, eyeing her. Sandstorm’s stomach dropped. “I hope you know that you can prove yourself a loyal warrior again. With time, the Clan will be able to trust you.”

Ice had spread through Sandstorm’s veins. “I already am loyal,” she snapped. Immediately regretting her sharpness, she corrected herself. “Sorry. It’s my hope that you trust me already. I’m looking forward to your leadership.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of starlight drew her gaze.

Sandstorm turned towards the entrance of the medicine den. She swore she saw a familiar shape in the early morning mist. Amber eyes flashed at her, and a red tail swished out of sight as her father’s spectre disappeared into the medicine den.

Hesitantly, Sandstorm stopped, then put a paw towards the medicine den, then another. In a few moments she was in the outer area of the den, where patients slept alongside Cinderpaw. The little gray apprentice was there now, counting poppy seeds on a dock leaf.

“Good morning, Sandstorm,” Cinderpaw said, chipper as ever.

“Morning,” Sandstorm replied. “Did you see Tigerstar’s returned?”

Cinderpaw shrugged. “Yellowfang came back, so I figured he was, unless he’d somehow fallen down the gorge.”

It was a joke, but Sandstorm shuddered. Since the battle in which Graystripe had failed to save a RiverClan warrior from falling to his death, the gorge had scared her more than nearly everything else.

She’d only been saved from the same fate by Fireheart. She’d owed him her life. She still did.

Putting the thought aside, Sandstorm settled down in one of the patient nests. “I know you’re probably going to check on the elders, but I think I stepped on something yesterday - my pad’s been hurting. I was wondering if you could check it out,” she lied.

Cinderpaw nodded, grabbing Sandstorm’s paw and turning it over to inspect it.

Sandstorm waited a moment, then spoke in a wondering tone. “Have you ever seen a ghost, Cinderpaw?”

“Ummm… I’m a medicine cat, I see them every two weeks,” Cinderpaw said, looking up at her with a brow raised. “Have you?”

Sandstorm shook her head quickly. “I was just wondering if it was possible for a cat with unfinished business to stay on the earth instead of moving on to StarClan,” she said. “I…. Was listening to a story from the elders a couple days ago, before… everything happened, and I wanted to ask about it.”

“I’ve never heard that story; I’ll have to ask them to tell it to me later!” Cinderpaw said brightly, and Sandstorm stopped herself from wincing. She hated lying, especially to her friend, but before doing anything at Redtail’s direction she wanted to find out if she could trust him.

“That being said…” Cinderpaw said, hesitating. “I’ve never heard of anything like that happening. I’m still an apprentice, so I’m no expert in the ways of StarClan, but I don’t think a cat gets to choose when they move on. Perhaps there are ghosts, though, like the spirits of rogues? You should probably talk to Yellowfang about it.”

And risk the perceptive old molly realizing Sandstorm had had some sort of vision? No thanks. Still, Sandstorm dipped her head. “You’re right, thanks anyways though.”

“I can’t see any soreness on your pad, so it’s probably just a bruise. You’ll have to suffer through it, sorry, Sandstorm,” Cinderpaw said, dropping her paw.

Sandstorm had almost forgotten that she had come in under a false pretense. “It’s all right,” she said. “Would you like me to help you carry all that to the elders’ den?”

With a purr, Cinderpaw shook her head. “No, thank you, I’ve learned how to do it myself.” A yowl sounded from the outside camp, and the apprentice twitched her ear. “It sounds as though Darkstripe is organizing his first patrols. You’d better get out there. He’ll want to make himself look good by putting you on a hunting patrol.”

Sandstorm snorted. “You’re probably right. Thanks, Cinderpaw.” With that, she slipped out of the den.

Indeed, Darkstripe stood in center camp, but it was Tigerstar who had yowled, from the top of the Highrock. As Sandstorm watched, he uttered the words to call a Clan meeting. Almost every cat was still in camp so a steady stream of cats emerged from the warrior’s den.

Dustpelt made his way over to Sandstorm’s side. “What do you think he’s doing this early?” he yawned.

Sandstorm shoved her friend. “Be respectful. He probably just wants to address us.” Then, something occurred to her. “He’ll want to reassign Cloudpaw’s mentor, too.”

Dustpelt’s face fell. “You’re right. Poor kit. You think he… knew?”

Something sharp panged in Sandstorm’s chest. “No. I don’t think anyone did,” she retorted. There was more venom in her reply than she’d intended, and Dustpelt gave her a look before turning away.

“Hello, ThunderClan. I greet you now as Tigerstar,” their leader rumbled, ending the conversation. “Today, I must perform a duty essential to the survival of this Clan after yesterday’s tribulations. Cloudpaw, please come forward.”

The longhaired white apprentice swept forward. Without Fireheart, who had often been his guide and protector in the Clan, he looked alone and lost. Sandstorm didn’t miss the worried glance he sent back at his adoptive mother, Brindleface.

“Cloudpaw, yesterday your mentor was driven into exile,” Tigerstar began, looking down on the smaller cat. “It is my hope that you can prove yourself as a loyal member of this Clan, one who will not follow in his treacherous footsteps. Because of this, your new mentor will be our deputy, Darkstripe. Darkstripe, I hope you can pass your loyalty and faith on to this apprentice. As his mentor, you would do well to teach him all you know.”

Darkstripe scrambled forward, obviously a bit surprised. He quickly pressed his nose to Cloudpaw’s, then stepped back again with just a bit too much quickness. Sandstorm narrowed her eyes, wondering whether he was judging his new apprentice for his uncle, or for his kittypet origins. Maybe both.

She was the sort of cat to judge others for their heritage - until she’d befriended Fireheart. Swallowing what felt like a rock, Sandstorm averted her eyes from the ceremony. The ginger tom’s unrelenting kindness and charisma had allowed her to become a better cat. And then he had turned out to be an awful one.

How could she ever trust anyone again? Not even her dear, departed, beloved father was in StarClan - if she could believe the spectre, anyways. Yet another cat in her life she couldn’t listen to without a grain of salt. 

Sighing deeply, she returned her attention to the ceremony. While she hadn’t been paying attention, Tigerstar had apprenticed Brindleface’s male kit to Whitestorm. She made a mental note to find out his name. Sandstorm was not the sort of cat who spent much time in the nursery.

Tigerstar continued by apprenticing Brindleface’s other kit to Dustpelt and giving her the name Fernpaw. Sandstorm listened for a moment to pick up the other apprentice’s name - Ashpaw - before joining in the cheers.

“Apprentice’s den is going to be pretty full now,” she commented to Brackenfur.

The younger warrior shrugged. “Not my problem,” he said. Sandstorm rolled her eyes. Since becoming the first of his litter to earn his full name, Brackenfur had been slightly full of himself. It wasn’t like him, and it was unbecoming. She resisted the urge to swat him.

“Besides,” Brackenfur said, returning to his normal calm and steady tone, “Every cat knows Tigerstar will make my littermates and Swiftpaw warriors any day now. He’s probably just waiting to formally assess them so it looks a little better.”

“You’re probably right,” she said, standing and stretching. “Well, the morning’s still young, and Darkstripe’s going to be busy with his new apprentice now. Shall we go hunting?”

—

It was late afternoon when Sandstorm and Brackenfur returned, laden with prey. As they came in through the gorse tunnel, Sandstorm spotted Cloudpaw, who seemed to be sunning unoccupied. She ordered the apprentice to accompany her into the forest to pick up the kills they’d left behind buried. 

The apprentice followed her half a pace behind, radiating a sullen energy. Sandstorm had had angsty days at that age, but never this bad.

With a jolt, she realized he was probably still upset over losing Fireheart. Though Fireheart had hardly been Cloudpaw’s only kin in the Clan - he had had Brindleface, Ashpaw and Fernpaw, after all - the kittypet had been like a father to him. To make matters worse, as near as Sandstorm could tell, every cat had just expected Cloudpaw to move on from the loss or even challenged his loyalty. Just as Tigerstar had done to Sandstorm this morning.

With a sweep of her tail she drew the young cat closer, slowing her pace so that their pelts brushed. “Are you okay?” Sandstorm asked.

Being gentle wasn’t in her nature, but to her surprise Cloudpaw looked up at her with huge doe eyes. “No! How can everyone expect me to just go on with things? Darkstripe yelled at me so much today for not focusing but… how can I focus without my real mentor?”

Ah, this was a bit more than she had bargained for. “Darkstripe _is_ your mentor now,” she said, taking on a gently chiding tone she’d heard mothers use with their kits. Cloudpaw’s head flopped with resignation. “And Fireheart is gone. Worse than that, he’s a traitor. Do you really want him teaching you?”

Cloudpaw opened his mouth defiantly, then shook his head. “I just want…. I want to talk to my mom.”

“Brindleface is back in camp. You can go talk to her just as soon as we’re done,” Sandstorm promised.

But the white apprentice shook his head again. “No, I love Brindleface, and she is my mom, but… I meant my birth mom, Fireheart’s sister. She’s smart, and she always knows what to do. Especially when I don’t.”

“You can remember all of that from being less than a moon old?” Sandstorm said, baffled. She’d seen how little Cloudkit was when he first came to camp, and she could hardly remember anything from those days except her father’s warm, milky scent.

Unbidden, a memory rushed to her mind. She’d been only an apprentice then herself, but Fireheart, younger than her still, had been made a warrior. And what had he done with the freedom? Saddled himself with a tiny, mewling kit.

With his ginger fur covered in snow, he looked sort of stupid, and he was terribly nervous as he spoke with Bluestar - and yet Sandpaw hadn’t missed the ways his green eyes shone with pride over the tiny scrap of fur, either. 

They’d barely been friends, then, but watching Fireheart carry Cloudkit into camp like he was his own had warmed Sandpaw to her core in the dead of winter.

A questioning mew broke the flashback. Cloudpaw had said something and she’d missed it.

“Sorry?” she said.

“Uh, yes,” the tom said, sounding less questioning this time as he lifted his chin. “I do.”

Sandstorm sighed. The memory had sent a deep pang through her chest, but she ignored it. She had more important things to focus on. “Come on, Cloudpaw, let’s get to work.”

“Wait, there’s another thing,” Cloudpaw said. Sandstorm was not the most empathetic of cats, but even she picked up on the obvious hesitation and nervousness in his voice. She stopped and waited patiently for him to continue. “Um…” the white apprentice averted his eyes. “I don’t think… I need help. Darkstripe wants me to _prove_ to him that I won’t betray the Clan like Fireheart. Like, he won’t believe me and… when I mess up he acts like it’s on purpose, like I’m trying to make him look bad and he gets really, _really_ mad. He’s kind of a shitty mentor,” Cloudpaw added in a more reflective tone.

“You shouldn’t say that about your mentor,” Sandstorm scolded on instinct, but her mind was racing with the rest of the admission. Had Tigerstar ordered this? Surely not. Darkstripe was probably just being overzealous, yet… “If Darkstripe gets mad, I can’t do anything about that, and neither can you. But if you want I can help you practice so you… mess up less.”

Cloudpaw nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Yes, thank you Sandstorm, I knew you would help! I just need to get ahead so he can’t possibly think I’m making him look bad or whatever.”

Leaning forward, Sandstorm cuffed the apprentice affectionately around the ear. “Of course. Now stop stalling. We’ve got prey to fetch.”


	6. Tigerstar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for uploading late kings, i was hanging out with my crush after class (!!) and forgot about all my worldly obligations

Sitting in the leader’s den - _his den_ \- and listening to the daily report, Tigerstar was beginning to realize that Darkstripe was a poor deputy.

It wasn’t as though he’d had much choice. No other cat was quite as loyal, quite as unquestioning. Even Goldenflower and Longtail, his second most stalwart allies, would not hesitate to question him or to disobey orders they thought broke the code. It was Darkstripe alone who would carry out any task assigned to him. 

Yet, the dark tom was unbearably pretentious, snivelling and brown-nosing, not to mention he seemed to lack the ability to give coherent orders himself - perhaps a side effect of being conditioned to take them so well. When Tigerstar had trained Darkstripe, he had created a lackey, not the powerful ally he needed.

His thoughts turned to the tiny kits that, even now, were growing inside Goldenflower. He’d do a better job with them. Surely, they would be worthy deputies. But that was a long way off.

Darkstripe cleared his throat, a habit of his when proposing a question. Rather than ask his deputy repeat himself, Tigerstar simply stared him in the eye disinterestedly until the dark tabby averted his gaze and continued talking.

“Well- the only other thing is that Cloudpaw and Sandstorm have been sneaking off together,” Darkstripe said.

 _Fireheart’s apprentice and one of his best friends._ “Well, he’s your apprentice, isn’t he? Punish him, and keep a closer eye on him,” Tigerstar barked automatically, but the gears in his mind had already begun to turn. Did they suspect? Could they possibly? And yet Sandstorm had been clearly, coldly furious with Fireheart when he was exiled just a few short days ago.

But maybe it wasn’t for his betrayal. Perhaps instead, she was furious he’d been caught in something they’d been planning.

Tigerstar shook his head as though he was shaking away water. The thought reminded him of dear old Bluestar when she had her more paranoid moments. Darkstripe looked at him expectantly.

“And keep both of them busy. Make sure they’re working for their Clan sunup to sundown. I don’t want to see either of them with a lick of free time,” Tigerstar added. Best not to take chances.

—

Later that evening, he traipsed into the forest, heading for the sandy hollow. Typically ThunderClan patrols were done by this time of day, save the evening patrol, but he’d specially set the older apprentices’ warrior assessment for tonight. Tigerstar had a surprise for Swiftpaw, Brightpaw and Thornpaw.

Perhaps in Bluestar’s ThunderClan a cat need only prove their ability to pick up a few mice in order to earn his warrior name, but now - in Tigerstar’s ThunderClan - they’d have to be able to fight off an attacker as well.

Slipping through the ferns that surrounded the sandy hollow, Tigerstar found the three apprentices waiting for him without their mentors. Each of them looked a different kind of nervous.

Brightpaw, the apprentice of gentle and soft-hearted Whitestorm, had furrowed her brow together in worry. Her white patches were a soft pink in the deepening sunset, and despite being old enough to become a warrior, she looked small.

Next to her, her taller brother, Thornpaw, was clearly suppressing the urge to start pacing. He had always been full of energy and difficult to manage at times. His golden eyes narrowed as he watched Tigerstar enter the clearing.

Finally, Swiftpaw jutted his chin into the air with false confidence, his eyes never leaving Tigerstar’s. Tigerstar had raised the black-and-white cat as his own once he had become mates with Goldenflower, but Swiftpaw was a damn fool if he thought that would confer him any advantages today.

Leisurely he walked past the apprentices and settled behind them, forcing them to turn to face him. He waited until the silence was just a beat too long before speaking.

“I know that this is not the assessment you were expecting, but rest assured, it is your assessment, and I am confident you will pass and earn your warrior names upon the morn,” Tigerstar began. Swiftpaw’s eyes sparked with excitement, but the other two still looked nervous.

For once, he was not lying to curry favor. All three of them were well past ready for their warrior ceremonies. Bluestar had merely meant to put things off until the conflict with RiverClan died down. But after that mangy traitor Graystripe left, it was easy enough to chuck the unwanted scraps of fur back to RiverClan and be done with the whole thing.

With newleaf would come peace, and with peace would come growth. By leaf-fall, ThunderClan would be as strong as Tigerstar had always dreamed.

He closed his eyes briefly, putting himself back in the moment. “I will be your enemy today,” he said, rising so the apprentices got a good look at his frame. Tigerstar was one of the largest cats in the Clan, and he smirked when Thornpaw gulped loudly. “When I leave the hollow, you will wait here until you’ve counted enough fireflies that each cat in the warrior’s den could have one. Then, and only then, you will use your tracking skills to find me, your stealth and coordination to ambush me, and your fighting skills to defeat me.”

Tigerstar looked over all three of them once more, wondering briefly if he should let them ask questions, but he banished the thought. A good warrior did not ask questions, he obeyed orders. It was well past time for these three to know that. Without another word, he slipped off into the dusky forest.

Heading north, Tigerstar planned to cross the stream on the other side of the training hollow before doubling back and heading for Tallpines. This time of year the stream was solid enough that it was easy to cross without getting one’s paws too wet, but a current of quick-running water slid over the ice and carried his scent away as soon as he’d crossed. 

He padded further downstream on the ice, not wanting to give the apprentices a scent to follow on the far shore. As he walked, the pinkish dusk deepened into a gray twilight. Birdsong slowly snuffed itself out and the forest quieted of the sounds of small animals.

Finally stepping out from the stream just a few tree-lengths from Sunningrocks, Tigerstar took a moment to groom each of his paws dry in turn, confident that the apprentices had not yet even left, let alone found him. He continued on for Tallpines, and when the trees thinned and the ground cover gave way to needles, and he could see the Twoleg fence through the trees, he paused.

The sun had fallen completely, and it was now night. Though the pines were too thick to see properly through, Tigerstar had no doubt that the moon must have risen. _Well, no reason to waste my valuable time hiding under a bush waiting for the apprentices to find me._ He opened his mouth to taste the air, determined to get some hunting done.

Hunting in darkness was a traditionally ShadowClan skill, and yet Thistleclaw had taught him how to do it anyways. He didn’t know where the old tom had picked it up - but he suspected even if he’d asked, Thistleclaw would never have told him. He’d often refused to speak of his past, only mentioning Snowfur in occasional asides before immediately becoming angry and lashing out - _‘are you focusing on your training, Tigerpaw, or listening to gossip like an elder?_ ’ Despite himself, Tigerstar purred fondly.

Speaking of becoming an elder - he’d been too lost in his thoughts of the past. Refocusing, Tigerstar flicked his ears and sniffed until he could catch the faint heartbeat of a sleeping vole.

Dropping into a crouch, he moved forward on swift but balanced paws. Once he found the creature’s hole, he scooped it out, tossing it into the air before killing it with a satisfying _crunch_.

A loud sound of a drop caught his attention. Immediately flattening himself to the ground, Tigerstar scanned his surroundings before he saw it - Cloudpaw had just leapt to the ground from the top of a Twoleg fence.

Tigerstar stayed perfectly still and flat to the ground, and luckily Cloudpaw didn’t seem to notice a thing. _Fireheart was a poor mentor, then._ Unalert, the white cat licked his chops a few times, ears flat, before trekking off towards ThunderClan camp and soon disappearing into the thick undergrowth past Tallpines.

Could Cloudpaw have been taking food from Twolegs?

Tigerstar crept forward until he could pick up the white cat’s scent, but although Cloudpaw’s scent had mingled with that of kittypets, he could not smell any sort of food on him. Frowning, Tigerstar went back the vole he had caught and buried it with a few frustrated swipes of the dirt. He tasted the air again, intending to take his anger out on another poor piece of prey.

Instead, he scented Brightpaw.

Whipping around, he headed for the thicker forest where she was standing in a clearing, sniffing at a log. Tigerstar narrowed his eyes. Obviously she was looking for him, but where were the other two? Had they split up? Did they truly think they could each beat him alone?

In an instant, his thoughts were interrupted. A weight of something - two somethings - landed on his shoulders and haunches, swiping and hissing. Tigerstar growled and shifted his weight to roll and trap them under him.

As his attention shifted, out of the corner of his eye, Tigerstar saw Brightpaw turn and leap for him, forepaws outstretched. She landed just in front of Tigerstar, beginning to batter at his head as he rolled. He swiped her back legs out from under her quickly before leaping to his feet and backing off into the clearing, arching his back and snarling.

The apprentices followed, fanning out like seasoned warriors. Thornpaw leapt again, straight at Tigerstar’s front, and while he was occupied batting the apprentice away Swiftpaw followed, then Brightpaw. Every time he took an apprentice down, they leapt back up, hissing and furious. Yet they weren’t big or powerful or coordinated enough to take him down, and Tigerstar wasn’t really tiring. They were at an impasse.

But he wasn’t going to give it to them. He was going to make them _earn_ their warrior names.

Leaping forward with a powerful spring, Tigerstar pinned Swiftpaw under a single paw, then smacked Thornpaw with the back of his paw, pushing the golden apprentice into the air and sending him flying into a tree. Brightpaw’s eyes sparked with genuine fear, then rage. But instead of going to free her friend as he expected, she sprang up onto his shoulders, putting her full weight on him. She leaned back onto her hind legs, digging her hindclaws into his haunches, and wrapped both her forepaws around his neck to her unsheathed claws rested on his throat.

Tigerstar twisted his neck to snap at her, but her balance made it difficult to knock her off. Meanwhile, Thornpaw had recovered from the heavy blow and was racing toward him. With a burst of previously unknown strength, Thornpaw took Tigerstar’s foreleg in his jaws and wrenched it off Swiftpaw. As Swiftpaw stood, Tigerstar stumbled, and the two male apprentices leapt on him, holding him down as Brightpaw leapt out of the way of his weight, then returned to hiss directly into his face.

Panting heavily, Tigerstar raised his tail.

Immediately the apprentices stepped back, sheathing their claws. Shame, embarrassment and worry passed over all their faces as they let Tigerstar stand.

In Bluestar’s ThunderClan, they’d have been resigned to more apprentice duties for at least another moon for the crime of being fine warriors. But this was how Tigerstar had trained with Thistleclaw. This was how apprentices would train in his ThunderClan.

“You’ve done well,” Tigerstar said, lifting his chin. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’ll be warriors by tomorrow’s sunhigh.”

All the apprentices’ eyes lit. Tigerstar didn’t miss Thornpaw’s muscles tensing as he stopped himself from leaping into the air with excitement.

“We won’t be punished?” Swiftpaw said boldly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Tigerstar purred. “I would never punish such strong warriors for training so well. You may return to camp to rest in the apprentice’s den for the last time.”

Bouncing with excitement, the apprentices stood. Thornpaw was off like a shot, and Swiftpaw and Brightpaw followed only slightly more slowly. When they were halfway into the undergrowth, Tigerstar called out.

Brightpaw turned her head. “Yes, Tigerstar?” she said, her eyes shining.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like a moment alone,” he said. Swiftpaw dipped his head and kept walking. 

Brightpaw turned around and came to sit in front of him, looking nervous but still confident and excited with her skills. In the moonlight her white patches glowed. Her face was hard-set in determination.

“I didn’t miss that you were the one to end the battle. I saw your rage,” Tigerstar said. “Swiftpaw and Thornpaw will earn their warrior names on the morn, but I’d like you to know I think you’re better than either of them. Harness that rage, and you’ll be the most powerful warrior this forest has seen in moons.”

“Stronger than you?” Brightpaw challenged, leaning forward.

“We’ll see about that yet,” Tigerstar chuckled. “Expect greatness soon, Brightpaw. You deserve it. Now go follow your denmates.”

Practically sparkling with pride, Brightpaw nodded, and bounded off towards camp.


	7. Fireheart

As soon as they’d arrived in ShadowClan camp, Fireheart had collapsed. Despite his brave words to Princess, the journey had been too much for him, and he’d lain in the center of their camp, dazed, as Graystripe stood above him and pleaded for their lives.

The next day or two passed in hazy moments of clear memory interrupted by blessed, dreamless sleep. When he opened his eyes Fireheart saw glimpses of Graystripe, Runningnose and the inside of an unfamiliar den but he didn’t bother to think on it, instead slipping back into unconsciousness.

Sleep, oh _blessed_ sleep. Fireheart had been so exhausted for so long he’d forgotten what it had been to be content and rested.

—

He wasn’t sure what day it was, but something told him he wouldn’t be going back to sleep.

Screwing his eyes shut and putting his paw over his muzzle, Fireheart tried to force himself back into unconsciousness, but he could feel it slipping away like a misty morning in sunlight. With a deep, beleaguered sigh, he lifted his head to an unfamiliar place.

“This isn’t Princess’s garden,” he muttered, flattening his ears against his head.

The den was dark and cool, with stone walls leading to a peaked roof, so Fireheart guessed he was in a small cave formed by the crack between two boulders. Small, baby ferns peeked up from muddy ground all around, and larger ones were lined with moss and bracken like nests. Fireheart himself was laid out with moss stuffed up next to him on all sides, in what was probably a makeshift nest. Sniffing the air, he picked up the scent of herbs, some familiar and others strange and foreign.

“Princess’s garden?” came a skeptical voice from down the cave. “You’re not still dazed, are you? All last night you were calling out for some cat called Nutmeg.”

Emerging from the back part of the den came Runningnose, ShadowClan’s medicine cat. He looked terrible himself, but Fireheart decided not to say anything.

“You haven’t lost your memories, have you? What’s the most recent thing that’s happened to you?” Runningnose demanded, looking half concerned and half frustrated.

“I’m sure Graystripe’s told you,” Fireheart croaked, avoiding the question. In truth, he wasn’t sure what Graystripe would have told ShadowClan since they were, apparently, sheltering there. “It’s good to see you, Runningnose. A relief.”

“Well, you remember Clan life now, at least,” Runningnose snorted, turning away. “Of course you think that's my name,” he muttered, half to himself.

Fireheart pricked his ears with interest, straining to lift his head. “It isn’t?” he said.

Runningnose glanced back at him and rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Do you think Yellowfang would have called me something so cruel?” _She certainly called you something cruel enough to give you this attitude_ , Fireheart thought mutinously, but he bit back the retort. After a moment of silence, Runningnose snorted again. “Stop straining your neck and rest your head.”

Fireheart obeyed, but his paws were still pricking with curiousity. “What is your name?”

Runningnose sighed, deflating. “It’s Fleetwhisker. But go on calling me whatever you like… most cats do. And don’t ask me why the name changed,” he added suddenly, eyes turning fiery.

Fireheart was lying down, but he wanted to shrink back. “I won’t. I wasn’t. But I’ll call you Fleetwhisker, if that’s all right.”

Fleetwhisker regarded him for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “It seems you’re awake for good this time, so I suppose I ought to fetch Graystripe.”

As the medicine cat slipped out of the den, Fireheart struggled to sit up. He managed to get his forelegs flat on the ground and his head in the air, though he didn’t dare try to stand or even sit on his haunches. Even the slightest movement was giving him a pounding headache.

Breathing far too heavily for his slight movement, Fireheart realized Fleetwhisker hadn’t said he’d fetch Nightstar or even the Clan deputy, whoever that was. Fireheart could never remember.

All that to say, why wasn’t Fleetwhisker alerting the cats in charge? Surely they had questions for him? Or perhaps they were so satisfied with Graystripe’s answers that they couldn’t be bothered to speak with Fireheart. He tensed. He _needed_ to find out what Graystripe had told the ShadowClan cats about their exile.

Fleetwhisker re-entered the den, followed closely by Graystripe, who let out a joyful mrrow when he saw Fireheart. Nodding to them, Fleetwhisker settled further down the den near a shelf of rock and began to busy his paws with herbs.

Meanwhile, Graystripe bounded over to Fireheart, purring heartily as he nuzzled him. “You’re awake!” Graystripe cried.

“I am? I hadn’t noticed,” Fireheart said dryly, but he nuzzled Graystripe back with equal enthusiasm. Lowering his voice, he said, “Does ShadowClan know why we’re here?”

Fleetwhisker’s ears twitched, but Fireheart ignored it. There was nowhere more private to ask. Instead, he flicked his eyes towards the medicine cat and blinked at Graystripe meaningfully.

Graystripe nodded imperceptibly. “I’ve told them we left ThunderClan and we were looking for someplace new to settle. We were staying with your sister for a little while when Littlecloud caught me hunting on a stretch of territory that I thought was neutral ground. Since you were injured by a _rogue_ while we were in Twolegplace, I offered him to hunt in return for your treatment.”

Fireheart breathed out in relief. There would be no accusations of murder - yet. They had perhaps two quarter moons until the Gathering, when Tigerstar would announce their ‘treachery.’

“How’s life in ShadowClan? Are the warriors friendly, at least?” Fireheart asked.

“It’s fine. I spend most of my time hunting with the apprentices. There’s only four warriors really well enough to work, and most of them spend their time patrolling - trying to keep the other Clans from realizing what’s going on,” Graystripe said.

Fireheart blinked. “Er… what’s going on?”

Eyes widening, Graystripe tilted his head. “I forgot you wouldn’t know. There’s a sort of illness, going through the camp. It started with bad prey but then turned out to be contagious as well. Nearly every warrior is ill.”

 _Is that why Nightstar and his deputy won’t bother with me? Perhaps they’re too busy trying to keep things in order_ , Fireheart wondered. “What a horrible stroke of luck,” he murmured aloud. “No wonder they took us in just in exchange for another hunter.”

“It wasn’t a poor stroke of luck,” Fleetwhisker sighed.

Fireheart turned his head and felt Graystripe doing the same beside him.

Fleetwhisker didn’t lift his head, but instead cleared his throat. “Every ShadowClan warrior knows not to eat from the carrionplace. It’s not just the first thing we teach an apprentice - even kits know it. It’s too dangerous to scavenge there with all the rats, and everything we find there causes a disease that’s well-known to the medicine cats of ShadowClan. There’s no cure, not with the herbs that grow in the marsh, anyway. All we can do is treat the symptoms and hope.” The lithe gray tom leaned down and picked up the bundle of herbs he’d been working on, before walking over to Fireheart’s makeshift nest and dropping it.

“But Brokenstar overhunted the territory to its near-destruction. It’s why he asked for hunting rights from the other Clans and why he was desperate enough to launch attacks when he was refused,” Fleetwhisker continued. His voice, though quiet and even, was gripping with the intensity and emotion of his story. Fireheart could see that his eyes were fraught with the painful memories. “He thought as long as we could just get big, we could finally start winning battles. We could be great warriors and soldiers, like ThunderClan, instead of slinking around in the shadows. He thought his own Clan were cowards,” Fleetwhisker added, spitting.

Despite knowing that nothing in his story was at all his fault, Fireheart felt a strong prick of guilt when Fleetwhisker mentioned ThunderClan. Brokenstar was an evil cat, one who deserved his fate of exile and imprisonment. And yet Fireheart had never thought of what life was like in other Clans for more than a moment. To be loathed by the biggest and second-best-fed cats in the forest simply for existing must be… devastatingly difficult. Fireheart had wondered before how the cats of ShadowClan possibly could have supported such an awful cat. Now he understood.

“And so by the time leaf-bare rolled around and Nightstar became leader, nearly every cat was half-starved. There was no prey to be found except in Carrionplace. I tried to stop them, to warn them,” Fleetwhisker said bitterly, “but it is difficult to fight the instinct of a mother to feed her kits, a mentor to protect his apprentice, a father to provide for his mate and family. Nearly every cat fell sick within the moon. We’ve already lost many.”

Shaking his head, Fleetwhisker sighed again. “On that cheerful note, I shall bring Nightstar his tansy.” And he picked up his bundle of herbs again, and slipped out of the den.

Something sparked off in Fireheart’s head. _Tansy?_ A memory rolled around of a quiet morning many mornings ago, when Cinderpaw was still recovering from her leg injury and was just beginning to work as Yellowfang’s assistant. Fireheart had spent the morning with her, as he often did in those early days of her recovery.

The Yellowfang had asked Cinderpaw to bring something to help one of Speckletail’s newborn kits with a persistent cough. Cinderpaw had only guessed the correct herb on the fifth try, while the older molly teased her the entire time.

“Tansy’s for coughs,” Fireheart rasped. “Graystripe, is… is Nightstar sick?”

Graystripe nodded solemnly. “Cinderfur, as well. The deputy,” he added, seeing Fireheart’s look of confusion. “Runningnose is the only sort of leader ShadowClan has left.”


	8. Sandstorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer, more exciting chapters coming up I promise, but we've still gotta lay groundwork

Stifling a yawn, Sandstorm slid out of the warrior’s den, relishing the growing greenleaf light on her shoulders. Last summer had been short and bitter, and she was looking forward to her first greenleaf as a full warrior who could truly appreciate the wonders of the forest by wandering it alone.

She headed towards the rather sad-looking fresh-kill pile. Last night Darkstripe had had her out late on the evening patrol and then asked her personally to see to the medicine cats, since he was training with Cloudpaw and the other apprentices were just made warriors. By the time she’d finished her duties, it was too late for her to catch a bite to eat and she’d fallen into her nest, exhausted.

As she came up to the fresh-kill pile she nodded to Swiftstrike, Thorntooth and Brightclaw. Their ceremonies had been last night, and they’d spent the night in a traditional warrior’s vigil.

With a sigh, Sandstorm realized the pigeon and mouse left on the fresh-kill pile were probably best left for the nursery and elders to share before the first hunting parties came back in the morning. Her stomach gurgled with disappointment, but she ignored it. Other cats had to be fed first. It was no cat’s fault but her own that she hadn’t made the time to eat last night.

Dustpelt sidled up beside her. His face betrayed his equal disappointment in the morning’s selection. He sniffed at the mouse. “Suppose any cat will notice if we scarf it down real quick?”

Sandstorm shoved him. “Save it, Dustpelt, we’re not apprentices anymore,” she mewed fondly. “How much do you want to bet no one’s told the fresh new warriors they can speak again?”

Dustpelt purred. “I’d call the responsibility, but I’ve an apprentice to train this morning.”

The light mood lifted away slightly, and Sandstorm sighed. On top of everything, not getting to train her first apprentice along her childhood best friend felt like yet another blow to the stomach delivered directly from StarClan.

Of course, Dustpelt noticed. He nosed her cheek affectionately. “Don’t worry. Someday we’ll be mentors together. I’m sure Tigerstar just doesn’t want to put more on you right now - every cat knows you and Fireheart were close.”

“You’re right,” Sandstorm sighed. She closed her eyes, at first in disappointment but then in tiredness. She’d done two patrols yesterday as well as chores around camp. Her paws felt a bit heavy and, as she stood, her stomach gurgled again.

Dustpelt nudged her. “Sandstorm?” he said. She opened her eyes and blinked at him. “Are you all right? Maybe you ought to take today off. I’m sure everyone will understand.”

“ _No_ ,” Sandstorm said immediately, emphatically. She couldn’t stand to be alone with her thoughts.

“Fine,” Dustpelt sighed. “Just don’t work yourself to the bone. I’m off.” With that, he headed towards the apprentices’ den to wake Fernpaw.

Sandstorm turned back to the warrior’s den, hoping she could sleep in a bit longer before Darkstripe got his furry ass in gear, but as she padded up there he was, slipping out like a shadow.

“Sandstorm,” the dark tabby said, licking his chops. His dark eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. “Just the cat I wanted to see. Will you lead a hunting patrol this morning? I’m sure you’ve noticed the fresh-kill pile’s pretty low.”

As Sandstorm dipped her head, the deputy continued, “And I’d hoped you would go out and gather herbs with Cinderpaw in the afternoon. She asked for a warrior to accompany her.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Sandstorm said.

“And one last thing. Think you can do evening patrol?”

Frustrated, Sandstorm muttered, “Don’t you have any other warriors?” She did not mind serving her Clan - of course she didn’t mind - but why was Darkstripe singling her out like this?

But instead of answering, Darkstripe shoved his face close to hers and drew his lips back in a snarl. “I’m the deputy. I decide who does what. There’s a reason I’m in this position and you’re not, Sandstorm,” he hissed.

“Fine,” Sandstorm spat. “Have it your way.” Across the clearing, Tigerstar called out to the deputy, and he pushed past her.

Feeling exhaustion settle into her bones, Sandstorm went over to the apprentices’ den. With how busy she’d been the last quarter-moon or so, she hadn’t really had the time to help Cloudpaw other than muttered, encouraging conversations. Perhaps if she was meant to go hunting this morning, and Darkstripe was busy with Tigerstar, she could take the longhaired apprentice out with her.

But poking her head into the apprentices’ den, she found Ashpaw the only one still there, grooming his unruly kitten-fluff. “Where’s Cloudpaw? I thought I’d take him hunting,” she said.

Ashpaw snorted, then covered his muzzle with his paw, apparently ashamed. “Darkstripe’s got him sleeping in the nursery and looking after the elders for half a moon. Something about not being mature enough to become an apprentice, let alone a warrior. Can I come?”

“Of course, as long as you ask Whitestorm first,” Sandstorm replied automatically, and she stepped aside so Ashpaw could get past her. The information troubled her. Cloudpaw had seemed hesitant to ask for help, and as soon as he had, Darkstripe had punished him. Coldness ran through her veins. Was the deputy truly trying to train Cloudpaw into a warrior, or just torment him enough that he chose to leave the Clan?

“Do you really think Darkstripe thinks so much about any of his actions?” came a familiar voice.

In the nest where Ashpaw had sat just moments before, Redtail had appeared. She could see the brambles of the den wall through him.

“You’ve lived with him a long time. You know his capabilities - would he be capable of something so thought-out?” Redtail pressed.

Sandstorm paused before replying. “You’re right, Papa. Darkstripe follows orders. He can’t give them to save his life. I guess he’s probably not being malicious - he’s just a shitty mentor, like Cloudpaw said.”

A frown flashed across Redtail’s face, but he seemed to move on from the subject. “Why have you not sought out Ravenpaw?” he pressed.

She hesitated a moment. “I… don't know if I can trust you, Papa,” Sandstorm finally said, honestly. “You’re not a warrior of StarClan, just a ghost. I don’t even know if it’s really you. Especially because… when you were alive, if I had wanted to go onto ShadowClan territory alone, even if it were the will of StarClan, you’d’ve killed me.”

Redtail’s amber eyes were soft with affection. “You were an apprentice then. Now,” he purred, “you’re one of ThunderClan’s best-respected warriors. And there’s no other cat I trust more to carry out the tasks at hand.”

“You trust?” Sandstorm said. “You mean StarClan hasn’t… weighed in, at all?”

“They don’t speak to me any more than they do you, Sandstorm,” her father said. A sorrow settled across his shoulders, and he lowered his eyes to the ground. “I am merely a shard of soul which chose to stay here after I died. I knew ThunderClan would need my guidance, so I left part of myself here, but I am not even wholly present. I’m not sure whether or not they’ll take me back after my business here is finished.”

Taken aback, Sandstorm took a step back. “You don’t mean-?”

But before she could finish the question, there was a prodding at her haunches, and Sandstorm opened her eyes.

Ashpaw was looking at her with some mild concern. Sitting up, Sandstorm realized she must have dozed off in the apprentices’ den. _How embarrassing…_

“You sure you’re good to hunt, Sandstorm?” he said.

“Of course,” she replied with a false brightness, though her mind was storming with her father’s admission. Not only was the spectre not a warrior of StarClan - it openly admitted it might never be. Sandstorm led Ashpaw out the den and through the gorse tunnel, but she could not turn her mind from the thought that her father’s ghost - if it even was her father, and not some monster taking a new shape to torment her - was not trustworthy at all.

Resolutely, Sandstorm decided she would not visit Ravenpaw’s body. If the spirit wanted her to, it was surely a foolish move, one which would end up endangering her Clan.

—

Finally, _finally_ two nights later, Sandstorm got put on guard duty.

Darkstripe had been working her half to death, making her do at least two patrols every day and monopolizing her time around camp so she barely had time to sleep, let alone eat. Sandstorm had taken to scarfing down the occasional vole at the end of her solo hunting trips just to keep herself from losing the strength to walk back to camp. She felt terribly guilty about it, but as long as she brought everything else she caught back to camp, she could assuage her guilt by feeding the elders and queens personally. The apprentices seemed happy enough at having the break, and half the time Darkstripe asked her to do it anyway.

But increasingly since her conversation with Ashpaw, concern for Cloudpaw had been niggling at the back of her mind. She needed to help him, especially if Darkstripe was such a poor mentor and was treating him like a foolish little kitten.

And yet there had been no opportunity. Between Cloudpaw’s apparently endless punishments and Sandstorm’s own busy schedule, they had barely spoken. When they did, Darkstripe always seemed quick to run up and assign one of them a task. It seemed almost as though he was keeping them apart.

But now it was night. Sandstorm was the only cat awake, and no one would wake if she crept over to the apprentices’ den.

Calling softly through the brambles, she said, “Cloudpaw?”

Sandstorm stood silently for a moment, waiting to see if he responded. When she was just about to give up and stick her head in the den, the white apprentice emerged from the den, his long fur glowing in the moonlight.

“Sandstorm!” he cried excitedly, but Sandstorm hissed and he quieted instantly. She twitched her ears, listening for stirring from the warriors’ den, but nobody moved.

“You remember how I promised to help you with your training?” Sandstorm said. Cloudpaw nodded eagerly. “Not tonight, I’m on duty and if Darkstripe wakes to find me out of camp there’ll be hell to pay. But two nights from now, if I’m not guarding again, sneak out of camp and meet me at Sunningrocks at moonhigh.”

“Yes, Sandstorm,” Cloudpaw said solemnly. She felt as though something serious had just happened. For the first time in her life, Sandstorm would be going behind her leader’s back.


	9. Fireheart

A few mornings passed, and Fireheart regained his ability to hobble about, though Fleetwhisker forbid him from leaving the camp before he’d even asked. He often laid just outside the medicine den, warming himself in the weak sunlight. The ShadowClanners avoided him, except a pair of kits who seemed to view him as a better diversion than any that had come into their young lives yet. They often pestered Fireheart with questions about ThunderClan that struck him with their mundanity - “Do ThunderClan have an elder’s den? What do the trees smell like there?” and though no mother ever came out to collect them, occasionally a torbie they called ‘Aunt Tallpoppy’ would scold them from across the clearing, eyeing Fireheart suspiciously. Other cats were few and far between, though the sound of coughing from the dens and smell of sickness in the air made it clear why that was.

In some ways, Fireheart was reminded of his early days in ThunderClan, when no cat had trusted him far enough to throw him - but there was Graystripe, always loyal Graystripe, who brought him at least one mouse every day and fussed over him like a queen over her daughter’s kits. And Fleetwhisker, for all that he snapped and scowled and busied himself mixing herbs, seemed to enjoy the presence of two strong warriors, unsurprising given that the camp felt otherwise abandoned.

Yet each day Fireheart spent recovering from his injuries, he was reminded that the time was counting down until Tigerstar announced his ‘treachery,’ and he and Graystripe would be fugitives once more.

—

“Can I go to hunt yet?”

Fireheart had been begging for days now to leave the camp on a hunting patrol, and each time Fleetwhisker eyed him without saying anything - at best. But now the small gray tom sighed tiredly, and loped over to Fireheart’s nest. “You’re still weak,” he scolded. “I don’t even need to examine you to know that.”

“How will I grow stronger if you keep me lying here?”

“By eating,” Fleetwhisker said. He pushed a mouse towards Fireheart, but he turned his nose up at it. He felt full to bursting, and disgusted with himself for sitting here doing nothing but consume and put a weight on an already-sick Clan.

“I’m not hungry. I want to help hunt,” Fireheart insisted.

“My job is to heal you, not let you follow your whims,” Fleetwhisker snapped. He turned away, stalking towards the back of the den.

The harsh tone struck something in Fireheart, and he called after the medicine cat, “If you want me to heal, why won’t you let me test my strength? You’re keeping me here like some sort of elder!”

Fleetwhisker turned around quickly on one paw, and Fireheart was startled to see the gray tom was snarling, back arched defensively. “You’re here to heal. Graystripe is here to hunt. If you get better he won’t-”

Suddenly, the medicine cat went very quiet. Fireheart thought he understood.

“You think if I’m ready to hunt, I’m ready to leave, and Graystripe and I will go,” he said.

“And then we’ll be without enough hunters again,” Fleetwhisker muttered. He suddenly looked terribly ashamed of himself, refusing to meet Fireheart’s eyes. Fireheart stood and stepped toward the medicine cat, then stopped himself. His instinct was to perform a reassuring gesture like a lick to the head, like he would with his Clanmates, but… well, Fleetwhisker wasn’t his Clanmate.

“I..” he paused. He didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep. “We won’t leave you while you’re still in danger of starvation. At the very least, it’s a warrior’s duty to care for kits and elders. Graystripe and I could hardly call ourselves warriors if we left while the sickness was still here.”

Fleetwhisker sighed and shook his head. “You don’t have to be loyal to ShadowClan. I know we aren’t your home.”

“More our home than ThunderClan,” Fireheart muttered before he could stop himself. Fleetwhisker’s ear twitched curiously, but the medicine cat did not ask any questions. After a long, silent moment, Fireheart said, “I’m going to go out with Graystripe, next he goes.”

“Make sure you’re awake by sunset, then,” Fleetwhisker said, turning away. The medicine cat went into the back part of the den, and Fireheart was left alone.

The afternoon passed quickly as Fireheart dozed it away, hiding away inside the medicine den so the kits wouldn’t come bother him by batting at his tail. When the light filtering into the crack in the boulder had turned a light coral pink, he stood, stretched out, and went to join the gathered Clan.

Sitting slightly apart from the cluster of young warriors awaiting orders was Graystripe. Upon seeing Fireheart emerging form the boulder, his ears pricked up excitedly, and his tail lifted into the air in an indication of alert excitement. Fireheart limped over as quickly as he could, trying to hide the ache in his legs.

“Are you joining us tonight?” Graystripe said excitedly.

“I think so. Runningnose and I sort of fought over it earlier, but he didn’t say I couldn’t,” Fireheart said quietly. Graystripe’s eyes darkened in understanding.

“You have a soft spot for ShadowClan medicine cats, don’t you?” Graystripe teased. “You don’t want him to be mad at you because you respect him a lot, more than you let on.”

“Yeah,” Fireheart said. “Maybe all medicine cats,” he added self-consciously, remembering Cinderpaw. How was she in ThunderClan? Would Tigerstar be treating her well? Or would he have pushed her aside, sneering at her injury?

No, the tabby had only ever wanted power. Now he had it, as much as he could ever have dreamed of. He had no more reason to be cruel. For all that Fireheart’s chest ached with every thought of home, he was also relieved - the Clans would be safe from Tigerstar’s ambition now. There would be no more murders. And he was a well-respected warrior, had been for a long time before Fireheart ever turned up - surely he would lead the Clan well.

“Fireheart, are you all right?” Graystripe was looking at him oddly.

Fireheart shook himself. “Yes, just lost in thought. I miss home.”

“Me too,” Graystripe admitted. “You’ll like the warriors here, though.” He parted his jaws to say something more, but as he did, Fleetwhisker slipped out of the medicine den and made his way towards the gathered cats.

“Sorry for the delay,” he huffed. “Cedarkit scattered my poppy seeds.” Fireheart’s whiskers twitched in amusement at the thought of the rambunctious little things, and to his surprise the ShadowClan cats erupted in affectionate purrs as well. Then he thought, _Why am I surprised? They’re Clan cats just like us._

“Yes, well, Tallpoppy, why don’t you take Oakpaw to the Highstones border tonight? Rowanberry, I assume your presence means you feel up to hunting tonight?” Fleetwhisker asked. An elderly brown-and-white molly dipped her head, and Fireheart’s stomach lurched. She looked to frail to leave camp on her own at night, and yet without her he doubted they would be able to fill enough hunting patrols.

“Then you’ll go with Tallpoppy as well,” Fleetwhisker said. “Bouldernose, you take Ratpaw up around Carrionplace. Don’t you dare go in,” he warned.

“I know,” a large gray tom replied with a roll of his eyes. “We’re not eager to make this mess worse.”

Fleetwhisker’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t rebuke the warrior. Instead his eyes swept over the remaining two cats, a red-ginger molly with sharp, visible fangs and a smaller gray ticked-tabby.

“Flintfang, how does guard duty sound? That leaves Russetfur to take Graystripe and Fireheart near the dead tree in the heart of the territory,” he finished. “Make sure Fireheart keeps up, don’t be afraid to send him back if you must.”

Fireheart bit back an unappreciative comment, not wanting to strain his relationship with the medicine cat further. Instead, he shifted close to Graystripe, who was turning to the red molly.

She looked Fireheart up and down. Without looking away, she snapped to Fleetwhisker, “You’re sure he can keep up?”

“He said he could,” Fleetwhisker responded drily. “Like I said, send him back if he can’t.”

“I can,” Fireheart said, standing to prove himself. He had to concentrate to keep his knees from shaking, but he narrowed his eyes and held Russetfur’s gaze. Beside him, he knew Graystripe could sense his weakness like none of the ShadowClanners could, but the gray tom said nothing.

Deep down, Fireheart knew he _needed_ this. He hated being such a burden, especially on cats who were so weak already. He hated being a traitor, a coward, a _failure_. If nothing else, he could still be a warrior. He could still hunt for a Clan, even if he couldn’t save one.

Russetfur raised her tail straight in the air, suddenly. “Let’s go,” she said, and turned and left without another word.

Fireheart managed to keep up with the pace, but it took his full concentration - and had a cat asked him how to get back to ShadowClan’s camp, he’d’ve been lost. When Russetfur finally stopped, she looked preoccupied, as though in the short walk she’d already managed to begin worrying about the cats remaining back in camp. _One small warrior is a pretty sparse guard…_ Fireheart reflected. Then he shook his head clear of that line of thinking, before he was gripped by anxiety over it. Fleetwhisker knew what he was doing, and besides, it wasn’t like there’d been a better choice to make.

“Frogs should be out by now,” Russetfur said, her eyes firmly on the sky. “Try and get one of them for the kits. They need cheering up.”

If he ignored the frogs, it almost sounded like something a patrol leader might say at home. Emboldened by the familiarity, Fireheart asked, “What’s happened?

As soon as it came out of his mouth, Fireheart knew it was the wrong thing to say. Graystripe winced, and Russetfur looked him cold in the eye for several long moments before saying slowly, “Their sister passed away last night.”

“Oh.”

Russetfur narrowed her eyes, looking at him for another second, then two, then three. Finally, excruciatingly, she slid her gaze away. “They’re too young to really understand it anyways. But they’re still not happy about it. Anyways, let’s split up.”

Fireheart gladly took the excuse to split away, sending a worried glance to Graystripe over his shoulder as he went. This didn’t feel anything like his early days trying to prove himself to ThunderClan. Cats had been friendly then, if skeptical. But ShadowClan were coldly distrustful, if not outright venomous.

He listened for mice, trying to pick up on tiny heartbeats, but they seemed to be few and far between in the swamp. Instead, a chorus of croaks was slowly rising around him as frogs came out for the night. _Well, can’t be too different from a bird, can it?_ Fireheart thought grimly, and he set himself up in position to stalk a frog.

Yet after a few attempts, he was finding the slippery green creatures incredibly infuriating to catch. After a fourth missed pounce, he landed poorly, hurting his legs, and he fell to the ground, hissing.

“You’ve no idea how to hunt in the swamp.”

Russetfur stood above him, her tail raised and her gaze condescending.

“So drag me before StarClan and tell _them_ about it,” Fireheart grumbled. “I was trained in the forest.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Russetfur walked closer. “You’re too patient. The longer you sit, the more likely a frog is to notice you coming. You must move swiftly through the shadows and pounce without slowing down, like this.” She demonstrated the concept. “Not that your pelt color is particularly helping with your stealth.”

“Hey,” Fireheart said, but he didn’t mind the jab if it meant a good hunting tip. Wincing, he stood again. There was no way to stop his knees from shaking this time.

Russetfur considered him for a moment, and he thought that she was about to tell him to go back to camp. But instead, she said, “You’re the warrior ThunderClan got from a Twoleg nest, right?”

Fireheart nodded. “It’s okay. I was a kittypet once, too,” Russetfur said softly.

His fur stood on end. ShadowClan had accepted a kittypet into their ranks? She must have noticed the look he was giving her because she added, snarling, “Well, don’t think I’m going to let you be soft because of it, kitty!”

Fireheart flinched, and was surprised to see something resembling remorse cross Russetfur’s face. “Just… whatever,” she grumbled. “I already got a frog for the kits, so you don’t have to worry about that if you don’t want to. There's a few mice nearer the dead tree you can probably catch.”

“No. If I’m staying here I might as well learn to catch your prey,” Fireheart insisted. “Pounce without slowing down, right?”

Before Russetfur could reply, he dropped into a crouch, locking his knees so they wouldn’t shake so much. Moving quickly through the growing darkness, he singled in on a frog bellowing out its desires near the base of a willow tree. Without hesitation, he pounced, and this time when the frog leapt to get away, Fireheart was close enough to snag it. Proudly, he turned around to look at Russetfur.

Eyes wide, she said, “Good catch - f-for a beginner, anyway.” Fireheart lifted his chin, and for a moment, the world felt right again - things were like they once had been in his early days at ThunderClan, if only for a moment, and they could keep on getting better.


	10. Tigerstar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upside to quarantine - I can upload chapters a bit earlier than usual! ;P

_She’s behind you. Watching._

Are you sure? I don’t see anyone. I don’t smell anyone. I am alone.

_She’s there. She’s hiding._

Is she even a threat?

_A greater one than you know. Striking her down only gave her more power._

We’ve made a mistake.

_We’ve made a mistake. A terrible one. With patience, you would have been safe._

No going back now.

_Indeed._

Do you still see her?

_It is not vision that guides my insight. But yes, she is there. Waiting to pounce._

She’s a coward. She’ll wait to long.

_No._ She _knows patience, infinite patience as a leader should_. _She’ll wait until you are left unaware. She’ll pause as you let your guard down, assuming you can rest peacefully once more. She’ll hesitate as she stand above your sleeping form._ That _is when she will rip the lives from your body, with the precision any great warrior carries._

I hear her now. I won’t let my guard down. I’ll stay alert at all times if I must, to combat her.

_She’ll wear you down, and your overconfidence will tell you that you’ve made a place she can’t find you. You’ll be a sitting squirrel._

Who are you to tell me I’m overconfident? All my plans have succeeded. All my hopes have been reached. I can see her now. She’s a fool, she has no stealth. I can outrun her any day.

She’s coming closer now. I have nothing to fear.

Where have you gone? Her claws are too long. Her scent is too sharp. This doesn't feel right.

Bluestar, wait-

—

As Tigerstar awoke from the dream (or was it a nightmare?) with a start, it was already fading from his mind, reduced to familiar voices and a terribly unsettling feeling which he shook from his fur like water.

He had nothing to fear. Looking over the sleeping forms of Goldenflower and his kits, who he had bidden to join him in the leader’s den last night, he knew his future was secure.

Tawnykit lifted her head and looked at him skeptically, if sleepily. “Papa?” she squeaked.

“Sorry, my dear. A leader’s day starts early,” he murmured, licking his daughter’s head. Within an instant she was asleep again.

This was pleasant. He and Leopardfoot had never slept in his father’s den, but then, things were allowed to change. Perhaps Goldenflower’s nest in the nursery could be put to better use elsewhere, anyways.

But first he’d have to convince her to agree to it, stubborn and tradition-bound as she was. Purring to himself, Tigerstar left the den, ready to see the dawn patrol off with Darkstripe.

Whitestorm was leading, and Runningwind and Swiftstrike were accompanying, along with Whitestorm’s apprentice Ashpaw. Darkstripe was already having a quick word with Whitestorm, so Tigerstar bounded up quickly to send them on their way.

Then it happened. Behind Whitestorm, for just a single paling second, he caught a flash of Bluestar’s disapproving face. There was no doubt it was her - he would have recognized her anywhere, especially after -

Without realizing, Tigerstar took a step back as he remembered, and processed his nightmare. His former leader had stalked him through a dark forest, unseeable, unknowable until the moment when she finally -

Well.

“Are you all right?” Whitestorm’s urgent voice snapped Tigerstar out of it. He smiled calmly. “Of course. I was just thinking of something else. You’re all free to head out.”

Whitestorm’s eyes narrowed, and he flicked his tail to the patrol. “You all go on without me. I’ll just be a moment.” After a pause, he added, “You too, Darkstripe. I’d like to speak to Tigerstar alone.”

Sulking, the dark tabby crept away, and Whitestorm swept them towards the camp wall. “Are you quite alright?” he asked in a low tone.

Tigerstar snorted, ignoring a slight feeling of panic rising in his chest. “Of course. Are you?”

“I’m serious, Tigerstar,” Whitestorm said. “You looked for a moment there as though you’d seen a ghost. And Brightclaw told me about the assessment - that’s not how ThunderClan does things.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t know how to assess three little apprentices?” Tigerstar growled.  
Whitestorm was unfazed - he’d seen Tigerstar angry far too many times in their years of friendship to think it’d trigger a physical fight. “Of course not,” he said. “But it’s not like you. It almost sounds like something… my father would do. Is he…. Is he visiting you from StarClan?”

Tigerstar was taken aback for a moment. Whitestorm’s relationship with Thistleclaw had been strained at best, and with the old gray tom being Tigerstar’s mentor, they’d had an unspoken ban on the topic of him for as long as either could remember to prevent too much arguing or tension. Whitestorm must have been truly worried to bring him up.

Laying his tail gently over Whitestorm’s shoulders, Tigerstar said with a wink, “It’s rather gauche for a senior warrior to ask a leader about StarClan visits, but I’ll overlook it this once. He’s not visiting me, and you honestly wouldn’t need to worry if he was. I’m running the Clan, not Thistleclaw. I know what I’m doing.”

Whitestorm sighed, relaxing. “Yes, I know you do,” he said. “Just let me know if you’re not feeling well. You shouldn’t overwork yourself.”

“Neither should you. You’re not my deputy, so you don’t have to worry about me all the time. Relax a little, Whitestorm,” Tigerstar reassured him.

“Yes, well, I’d better go. The poor patrol is probably waiting for me at the top of the ravine. Think about what I’ve said, okay?” And with that, the white warrior was off. Darkstripe hesitated only a few moments before sliding over once more.

Tigerstar’s disgust at the dark tabby’s subservient, hyper-loyal behavior grew by the day, but he still needed him, so long as there were no other cats quite as loyal available for the deputy role. Whitestorm, Longtail and Goldenflower were probably the next most trustworthy, but there was nothing quite like personally mentoring a cat to make them loyal to you. It was just that he needed to do the same to another cat without robbing them of their ability to act as a surrogate leader when he wasn’t around; preferably a cat who was still quite young but old enough to see the deputy position soon…

Scanning the camp, which was beginning to wake up, Tigerstar looked over the apprentices den, where Fernpaw lay eating a vole - useless. He looked over to the warrior’s den.

“Darkstripe, see Brightclaw over there?” he ordered, and Darkstripe nodded vigorously. “Make her a patrol leader today. Tell me about how she does. I’m thinking of trying out something new, and I need her for it.”

“D-does that mean you want me to follow them?” Darkstripe said.

“I don’t care how you do it, just report back to me,” Tigerstar growled, a wave of irritation rising in him. _Figure something out for yourself for once!_ Darkstripe’s eyes flashed with alarm, then he whimpered out assent and scampered off. Pathetic.

Shaking out his fur, Tigerstar scanned the camp once more. Fernpaw and Ashpaw were both outside the apprentices’ den now, though their kittypet brother was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully Darkstripe had set him off on some busy task, not let him do what he wished. The stupid cat would run off back to his Twolegs at any chance, probably. Tigerstar’s mind returned to the night of the assessment, when he’d seen Cloudpaw coming out of Twolegplace. He’d let it go then, too busy to really think on it, but now it was starting to haunt him. Could the kittypet have been taking food from Twolegplace? Was he thinking of abandoning the Clan?

Worse, could he have been visiting Fireheart? No cat knew where the traitor had gone… perhaps he wasn’t so far away as Tigerstar had hoped.

A soft mew interrupted his thoughts. “Are you all right, Tigerstar?”

It was Frostfur, her blue eyes warm with concern. Tigerstar sheathed his claws, not realizing they’d come out in his moment of paranoia. _And that’s all it is, paranoia._

“Of course,” he purred. Quickly pivoting, he added, “Brightclaw and Thorntooth have been doing quite well. I expect you’re very proud of them.”

“Of course!” Frostfur said, lighting up. She looked past him, across the clearing, and Tigerstar turned to see Brackenfur and Thorntooth sharing a mouse. The two brothers hadn’t shared a den since they were kits, but now they looked as close as any littermates. Tigerstar’s pelt warmed. He’d done the right thing, fixing Bluestar’s mistake of splitting up the litter.

“I see so much of Lionheart in them sometimes, you know,” Frostfur added more softly. “Brackenfur has his wonderful calm, and Brightclaw and Thorntooth are as fierce as he ever was. And of course, Cinderpaw is so brave, braver than he or I ever were.”

Tigerstar hummed in agreement. “He would have been very proud of them, Frostfur,” he said.

His words seemed to sadden her slightly, and she leaned towards him, letting their pelts brush. “Don’t take your time with your kits for granted, Tigerstar. I know you have nine lives now, but still, it goes by so fast. Before you know it they have their own lives and want very little to do with you.”

Tigerstar didn't really need advice about being a father, and he really didn’t want to talk about his own kits. He replied, “I still see you in the medicine den nearly every quarter-moon helping Cinderpaw sort her herbs.”

Frostfur took a long moment to respond, leaning back to gaze up at the sky, which was quickly turning bright blue after the pink-gray dawn. She sighed, her eyes tracking a bird which flew far above the camp, passing by in an instant.

“There’s a world of difference between an apprentice and a fully-grown cat, even if they are all the same age,” Frostfur said simply.

“Do you think it’s right that Cinderpaw is still an apprentice?” Tigerstar asked.

After another moment of hesitation, Frostfur shook her head. “She feels ashamed of herself, still, that she’s fallen behind her siblings. I think receiving her full name would help her realize that she can stand on her own as much as any cat. But I suppose I’d have to tell that to Yellowfang, and, well, I fear she doesn’t like me much.”  
“She’s a bit standoffish for a medicine cat,” Tigerstar agreed, grumbling. “I can talk to her for you.”

“Would you really? Thank you, Tigerstar,” Frostfur said, eyes lighting up. She leaned back onto her hind legs, stretching to lick his cheek.

“I’m your leader, it’s my job,” he pointed out.

“Well, you’re excellent at it. I’m glad you were Bluestar’s successor. I don’t know any other cat that could have had the strength to lead us after something so terrible. Lionheart would be glad of it too,” Frostfur said, a certain insistence in her voice.

Tigerstar dipped his head to her and murmured a thank you, then made his way towards the medicine den. Frostfur’s words were racing through his mind. Was Lionheart really glad of it? Sure, he’d given Tigerstar a life, but Bluestar made it sound as though the cats at his ceremony had been chosen by some higher power, rather than volunteering to. Could the golden tom truly have forgiven him?

He pushed through the fern tunnel to the medicine den, letting the plants brush his fur reassuringly. He would solve Frostfur’s problem for her, get Cinderpaw her full name. It would be better that way, too, since then he could trust a ThunderClan cat for his adviser rather than having to rely on an ancient, mangy ShadowClan traitor.

Tigerstar made a final push through the crack in the rock - which had always been a bit slim for him - and emerged into the cool rock cave of the medicine den. Yellowfang sat on the other side, preparing some kind of ugly green paste, and Cinderpaw was nowhere to be seen. Probably for the best, though he wondered if this might have been easier had the little cripple been around to help him out.

“What do you want?” Yellowfang hissed without turning around.

“Is a leader not allowed to visit his medicine cat?” Tigerstar asked.

Yellowfang turned around, her ugly face marred further by hatred. Picking up the leaves on which the poultice rested, she moved to push past him, and Tigerstar blocked her.

“I’m not _your_ medicine cat. I’m Bluestar’s,” she hissed.

“She’s dead. Move on,” Tigerstar growled. “Is your loyalty not to ThunderClan?”

“It is.”

“Then your loyalty is to me. I _am_ ThunderClan now.”

Yellowfang hissed in pure fury. “You forget that I witnessed your ceremony. I may not know what you’ve done, but there’s something wrong. Your leadership is rotten to the core, Tigerstar.”

Rage rose in Tigerstar’s chest, and he unsheathed his claws without thinking. How dare she accuse him of disloyalty to the Clan when she was just a ShadowClan traitor? “I am the rightful leader of this Clan. StarClan gave me nine lives. They approve of me. You would be unwise to forget that,” he snarled.

Yellowfang stepped back, and though the fur still stood on her haunches, she lowered her eyes, breaking his gaze. “Fine. What do you want?”

“You need to give Cinderpaw her full name,” Tigerstar said.

Snarling, Yellowfang’s fury had returned. “You forget, Tigerstar, that while you are ThunderClan’s king, in this den, I am the leader. I decide when she has finished her training, and I decide when I retire. I know you want me out.”

Tigerstar took a step back. He had known this wouldn’t be easy, but he didn’t realize Yellowfang would know of his personal dislike for her. The ancient molly was more perceptive than he thought.

Sighing, he flattened his ears, buying himself a moment to think as Yellowfang was thrown off. She wouldn’t respond to an order, but perhaps if he told her what Frostfur had said - convinced her it was all for the apprentice’s own good rather than a political move by Tigerstar…

“I’m sorry to overstep. I just worry for her. Frostfur told me that she still feels like she’s not enough, and any cat can see how little confidence she has, especially after Fireheart… left,” Tigerstar said, speaking as regretfully and gently as he could. “I simply thought it might be good for her, to help her realize that she can stand on her own four paws.”

Yellowfang’s jaw hung uselessly from her muzzle, the leaves and poultice lying forgotten on the ground.

“Er… yes, I suppose it would,” she said finally. “I’ll think on it. If you’ll excuse me, I have to mix a new poultice for Smallear’s pains now…”

“Of course,” Tigerstar said, dipping his head respectfully. As he turned toward the exit, he hid a small, smug smile. Things were really beginning to go his way in this Clan.


	11. Cloudpaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloudpaw's hard schedule gives him something to prove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh... surprise? :P
> 
> This is kind of a bonus POV and I originally thought it would be kind of a bonus chapter, so why not upload it on a bonus day? I'll go back to the regularly scheduled programming on Tuesday. Depending on how things go with my school starting up again this week, I also might decide to start uploading twice a week, in which case... start watching out for Saturdays!

The moment the mornings’ rays filtered through the ferns of the apprentices den had become a moment of dread for Cloudpaw. 

Mornings used to be his favorite time. He’d wake Fireheart (not a morning cat) gleefully, head to the nursery to entertain Ashkit and Fernkit while Fireheart ate something and got their patrol assignment, and head out for the day knowing that he loved his Clan, and that he was in the right place and doing the right thing. For all that Darkstripe called him a kittypet, Cloudpaw was ThunderClan through and through. It was his _home_.

But this awful morning, the memory left a bad taste in his mouth. The sun had barely risen, but there would be no waking of his mentor. Darkstripe was probably already awake, and probably already angry.

He sat up and took a quick moment to groom the scraps of moss out of his fur - no use giving any cat one more thing to criticize him about. Then he left the den, nose high, and headed over to where Darkstripe was assigning patrols, ignoring the tight feeling of frustration and dread in his chest.

Cloudpaw knew that the warriors thought he was stupid, or useless, or boastful, or fat, or “a pawful.” But the way he saw it, he was pretty much a full-grown adult. The Clans had their system of apprenticeship, but his mother had given birth to him when she was younger than he was now, and if not for Fireheart’s intervention, Cloudpaw would have gone off to live in his own home, away from his family, moons ago. So if he fought back when other cats acted like he was just a dumb kid, so what? He was _right_.

The warriors dispersed, and he was left alone with Darkstripe, who eyed him suspiciously.

“Have you done the elders’ den yet?” the deputy asked.

 _Mouse-dung._ “I _just_ woke up, Darkstripe,” Cloudpaw said.

“Fine. When you’re done with that, come out and find my hunting patrol to join us. Then we’re having a training session at the sandy hollow this afternoon. And you’ll do the evening patrol with Whitestorm as well,” Darkstripe said.

“When am I supposed to eat?” Cloudpaw grumbled.

Darkstripe took two steps forward, getting in his face, and snarled. “When your duty to the Clan is complete. You want to be a grown-up, Cloudpaw? Then act like one,” he hissed.

Without responding, Cloudpaw turned on his paw and stalked towards the elder’s den, keeping his tail and nose high in the air. He was pretty sure, especially after visiting his mother and talking to her about it, that Darkstripe was overworking him so he didn’t have time to talk to Sandstorm. But what was he supposed to do about it, ignore his duties? Then he’d be even more trouble.

He nosed past the ivy screen into the cool, dark elders’ den. Dappletail greeted him with a warm purr. “How are you, Cloudpaw?”

Cloudpaw started scraping old bedding off of the floor of the den. “Just fine,” he said. “How about you?”

“We’re all right,” she said. “Still stuck on bedding duty, hmm? What did you do this time?”

“I think it’s just become a permanent part of my chores,” Cloudpaw grumbled. “I haven't seen Ashpaw and Fernpaw in here once since they’ve been apprenticed.”

Dappletail twitched her whiskers. “Maybe you should stop getting in so much trouble, then, young man.”

Old Cloudpaw would have rolled his eyes and purred at the joke. Now, he forced a smile, but he felt like screaming. Why wouldn’t any cat acknowledge that his mentor was being too hard on him? Cloudpaw wasn’t _stupid_ , and he wasn’t wrong, but every other cat seemed to accept that the harsh treatment was necessary to handling such a “pawful.”

A _pawful_ , that’s all any cat saw him as. Even Brindleface, as much as she loved him, couldn’t quite hide her relief when he’d moved to the apprentices’ den. The only cat who’d really had faith in him was Fireheart -

But then, he couldn’t miss Fireheart, could he? His stomach turned, and without saying another word to Dappletail, he gathered up the bundle of dirty moss and left the den, heading for the forest to dispose of it.

He couldn't miss Fireheart, because Fireheart was a traitor to the Clan. He couldn't question that, because if he did, then _he_ was a traitor too. But if he didn’t question it, wasn’t he betraying his uncle, who had been driven away from the Clan he loved so much to live like a rogue? But if Fireheart really had killed Bluestar - and there was no evidence to the contrary - then how could he justify missing him?

Now out of camp, Cloudpaw spat out the dirty bedding and scraped a few pawfuls of dirt over it, then grabbed a new bundle of moss from the roots of a nearby tree. When he had visited his mother a few days ago, she had said that Fireheart and Graystripe had stayed with her for a night, claiming innocence, and she’d believed them fully. Cloudpaw knew his mother was very, very smart. But he also knew she could be very trusting.

He couldn’t _think_ about this anymore. Darkstripe made him miserable enough. The only thing this was accomplishing was piling more misery on. Determined to put his uncle out of his mind, Cloudpaw raced back into camp.

—

Later that day, Cloudpaw’s stomach grumbled, scaring off the mouse he’d been stalking. “ _Fox dung_ ,” he hissed. 

Mousefur trotted up, carrying a pigeon. “Bad luck,” she said, running her tail over his shoulders reassuringly. “Come on, let’s head east a bit. There’s a rabbit warren over there.”

Cloudpaw glanced over at Swiftstrike, who quickly opened his jaws to taste the air. The furball had barely acknowledged the apprentices since his ceremony a few nights ago. _Bloody snot thinks he’s better than us now._

“Okay,” Cloudpaw said finally. “Let’s go get Darkstripe, too. He’ll be pretty pissed if he finds out we moved on without him.”

Mousefur flicked her ear to acknowledge the comment, and led the way through the undergrowth to a nearby clearing, where Darkstripe seemed to be stalking nothing at all. The dusky brown molly set her pigeon down next to the three voles she and Darkstripe had caught together earlier.

Darkstripe eyed the two younger cats suspiciously, licking his paw.

“I’ve got a robin buried a few paces that way,” Swiftstrike said quickly, nodding his head back where they’d come from. 

Darkstripe’s full gaze was set on Cloudpaw, who winced. “Nothing to show for the last few hours of hunting, hm?” the dark tabby said.

Cloudpaw’s face burned with shame. “Well, maybe if you let me take a break to eat earlier, I could actually focus on hunting!” he spat before he could stalk himself.

“Cloudpaw, we talked about this earlier. You’re embarrassing me,” Darkstripe said, turning to Mousefur with a roll of his eyes. To Cloudpaw’s horror, she suppressed a purr of amusement. _Traitor!_

“I was thinking we could head east. Runningwind and I found a warren that way a few sunrises ago,” Mousefur said.

Darkstripe squinted up at the sky. After a long moment, the deputy said, “Good idea, but Cloudpaw and I ought to go to the sandy hollow if he wants to squeeze battle training in today. Why don’t you and Swiftstrike go finish out there?”

Mousefur dipped her head, and she and Swiftstrike left. Cloudpaw stared longingly after them. He didn’t much fancy spending the afternoon with Darkstripe alone.

The dark tabby said something, and quickly Cloudpaw sat up and turned to look at him. “Sorry?”

Darkstripe rolled his eyes. _Ouch._ “I _said_ , we’d best get going.” With that, the deputy turned and raced off for the training hollow, and Cloudpaw quickly followed.

When they reached the sandy hollow, Darkstripe ordered him into a defensive position, then stalked around him in a circle, searching for a mistake. “I told you earlier, Cloudpaw. If you want to be treated like an adult, you need to start acting like one. Not whining and complaining every time things get tough.”

Cloudpaw kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to risk Darkstripe’s anger right now. _Especially_ not when they were in battle training. No cat would really question it if he came home with a few extra scratches… he needed to make sure Darkstripe didn’t have the same thought occur to him.

Besides, for all that he hated his mentor… Cloudpaw let his ears droop. Could the dark tabby be _right_ about him? He knew he was difficult. He knew he was… well, a pawful. Maybe that was why the warriors thought he deserved this harsh schedule, why Swiftstrike wouldn’t talk to him anymore. Maybe if he’d been a better apprentice, smarter and less occupied with getting his way, he could’ve seen that Fireheart was going to…

“Look alive,” Darkstripe ordered. He drew a line in the sand with one claw. “This is your border. I want you to defend it with everything you’ve got. If I make it one pawstep over, you lose.”

Cloudpaw tensed behind the line in the sand. He didn’t have time to think before Darkstripe leapt at him.

He quickly jumped up in the air to stand on his hind legs, physically blocking Darkstripe from crossing. The deputy may still be older and taller than him, but Cloudpaw had much more bulk, and he’d learned to use it. He shoved Darkstripe back across the border, then dropped back down onto all four paws, and leaned back, ready to meet his mentor again.

But this time the dark tabby took a different tack, dodging around Cloudpaw with his greater agility. Cloudpaw swiped with both forelegs, desperate to stop him, but it didn't help. Darkstripe won in an instant. 

“Useless,” he spat. “Maybe the border patrol tonight would be better off without you. Think Ashpaw will need help with the nursery?” Darkstripe’s eyes glittered with malice as he taunted.

Fury pulsed through Cloudpaw. _I’m a better warrior now than you’ll ever be!_ Without thinking, he leapt at Darkstripe, snarling. His mentor was far too easy to pin with the advantage of surprise. Cloudpaw pressed down on him, holding Darkstripe’s limbs under his superior weight, and extended one forepaw to hold his muzzle to the ground.

“Enough,” Darkstripe said, muffled.

Instantly, Cloudpaw’s rage evaporated. Suddenly terrified of what his mentor would say, he backed up several fox-lengths. Darkstripe stood, quickly grooming bits of sand out of his fur. But he didn’t seem angry. Instead, he sized Cloudpaw up again.

“Hmm,” Darkstripe said, and if Cloudpaw wasn’t stupid, he’d almost think his mentor sounded pleased. He tensed, crouching low to the ground. “Not terrible,” Darkstripe went on. “Your form could use improving, though. And of course, in a real battle, the opponent would see you coming across the moor.”

Relief washed over Cloudpaw. He wouldn't be punished! The criticism went almost completely unheard in his happiness. He forced himself to relax and sit up.

“Can I… still go on border patrol tonight?” Cloudpaw said hopefully, knowing it was too much to ask for the night off.

Darkstripe eyed him for a moment, then purred. A disgusting sound, but Cloudpaw was too relieved to let his stomach turn over it. “I don’t see why not,” Darkstripe said.

Cloudpaw was almost dizzy with happiness. He _was_ a great warrior, just like he thought. He just needed to prove it to everyone else. He’d keep working hard - harder than any other cat in the Clan, yes, but if he could manage to keep up with Darkstripe’s impossible schedule that would just show how great a warrior he was. _I can really do this!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post snippets from chapters or updates on my progress sometimes on my tumblr, [here.](https://space-pilot-3000.tumblr.com)


	12. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandstorm and Cloudpaw confront Tigerstar. Later, ShadowClan acts strangely at the Gathering.

“Good dodge, Cloudpaw,” Sandstorm praised, flopping down on the ground to lick herself clean. “You’ll be a warrior soon with that kind of effort.”

Cloudpaw, for all that he looked close to total exhaustion, managed to puff up with pride. For a moment Sandstorm worried she’d contributed to his already-overinflated ego, but she chased the thought away. He'd had a rough couple of weeks - he deserved the praise.

This was only the second night she and Cloudpaw had snuck away to train at Sunningrocks, but he had already shown massive improvement. Sandstorm really wasn’t sure if it was her intervention or _StarClan’s_ , but seemingly overnight, the apprentice had lost his sullen attitude, stopped arguing with Darkstripe over every little thing, and become… well, _himself_ again. And every cat had noticed. Runningwind had even stopped to ask Sandstorm what was going on.

She’s merely shrugged. “He’s not _my_ apprentice. Maybe they had some sort of breakthrough.”

“Hmm. I just thought you would know because you were Fireheart’s- well.” Runningwind had broken off, quickly averting his eyes. “Anyways, I’m glad of it. He’s much easier to deal with now.”

“I think you just don’t like apprentices,” Sandstorm had teased, but her heart sank at the mention of Fireheart. She wasn’t really sure whether Runningwind had been about to say ‘friend’ or ‘mate,’ and she wasn’t sure which one made her more miserable.

She knew that a few of the warriors shared a theory that she and Fireheart had entered a relationship, and were keeping it a secret until later. They were wrong, though. Fireheart was too much of an idiot to see her feelings. She had hoped - but there was nowhere left for that hope now.

Now, on the Sunningrocks, Sandstorm paused in her grooming, suddenly overtaken by a wave of grief. Had he been too much of an idiot? Or had he simply wanted to keep her safe by keeping her at arms’ length, knowing the danger of his plan?

But that assigned far too much nobility to the ginger warrior. He was a traitor to the Clan. Sandstorm was loyal, and so she would have nothing to do with him. That was all there was to it.

“Are you okay, Sandstorm?” Cloudpaw asked, his voice a bit small.

Sandstorm smiled, hoping her sorrow wouldn’t shine through. “Yeah, sorry. Got a bit distracted.” She fluffed her fur up against a biting breeze that swept over the rock. “Chilly out here, isn’t it?”

“It’s fine when we’re practicing, just when we take a break it gets a bit bad,” Cloudpaw said quickly. 

“Okay, I get the hint,” Sandstorm purred, standing again. She winced as her muscles strained and begged for a rest. Pushing the ache aside, she said, “Show me your hunters’ crouch now. I know you’ve been having a bit of difficulty in hunting.”

Cloudpaw immediately dropped into the crouch. Sandstorm looked over him quickly. “Looks pretty much fine to me. Try stalking,” she said.

The white apprentice moved swiftly and confidently over the rock, then paused to look back at her. Sandstorm shrugged. “That looks great too. You know…” she hesitated. “Your, um, your uncle and I talked about this a bit when you were a kit. It’s possible that you’re just going to always have a bit of a harder time with hunting due to your pelt.”

Cloudpaw sat up, expression serious. “Then I’ll figure out a way around it. I’m going to be as good a warrior as any other cat.”

“I know,” Sandstorm said quickly. She walked over to him and licked his ear, and the apprentice ducked away, embarrassed. “Just don’t be disappointed in yourself if you’re not getting the hauls you’d like yet. Your fighting skill will more than make up for it.”

“Hmm,” Cloudpaw grumbled. “So you don’t have any advice for how I can get more prey? Because I really don’t like having to listen to Darkstripe yell at me over catching almost nothing every time we go on a hunting patrol.”

Sandstorm’s heart went out to him. Darkstripe was just a poor mentor, and that was that. Surely it wasn’t helping that Cloudpaw was being berated instead of trained.

“Look, I’ll try and come up with something to help you out, but until then, I think we should talk to Tigerstar about the mentor situation. It’s really not getting better,” Sandstorm said.

Cloudpaw stared at his paws. “I guess… I don’t want him to be mad.”

“He won’t be,” Sandstorm promised, but the words felt empty to her. Could she be sure of that? She thought back to Redtail’s words. Was the ThunderClan leader really to be trusted?

She shook the sentiment off. Of _course_ he was. What was she thinking? “We’ll talk to him tomorrow morning, before Darkstripe assigns patrols,” she said. “He'll understand. You just need a mentor who will work with you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Cloudpaw muttered, shuffling his paws, and Sandstorm tried to keep herself from feeling as doubtful as him. This would work. It had to.

—

The next morning, Sandstorm woke to Whitestorm nosing her awake - she’d asked her former mentor specifically to get her up with him, because she knew he was going on dawn patrol. Like the wonderful cat he was, he hadn’t questioned her at all, merely agreed.

“I get it,” she grumbled, standing and shaking scraps of moss from her fur. “Could you do me another favor, Whitestorm?”

“Of course,” Whitestorm replied.

“I need a word with Cloudpaw. Can you get him too, when you get Ashpaw?” Sandstorm asked. When Whitestorm nodded, she thanked him and split off towards the fresh-kill pile.

To her surprise, Whitestorm and Ashpaw came trotting up a few moments later not with Cloudpaw in tow, but Fernpaw.

“Cloudpaw insisted on sleeping for a little while longer,” Whitestorm informed Sandstorm, settling next to her and picking a chaffinch for himself. Sandstorm rolled her eyes. She’d go get him herself, then, when she was done eating.

Ashpaw and Fernpaw laid down together on Sandstorm’s other side. “So is Dustpelt joining you all today?” Sandstorm said conversationally.

Fernpaw puffed herself up. “No, he's out on a special mission today-” she said proudly.

Whitestorm interrupted. “StarClan knows what _that_ means,” he said darkly, and Sandstorm glanced at him in surprise, but his gaze was fixed on the leader’s den.

“-so Fernpaw’s stuck with Longtail,” Ashpaw finished.

Sure enough, the pale tabby warrior soon emerged from the dirtplace tunnel and joined them. The conversation had died by then, however, with Whitestorm picking moodily at his chaffinch. Sandstorm wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she was so unnerved by his uncharacteristic behavior that she wasn’t sure how.

Finally Fernpaw piped up again, the proud note still in her voice. “Well, _I_ think Dustpelt is pretty brave to go out on a special mission by himself. He's a very good warrior,” she said.

Ashpaw snorted. “Sounds like somebody has a crush on him.”

Too shrilly, Fernpaw said, “I do not!” Then, quieter, she added, “And so what if I did?”

Sandstorm purred with amusement. _Apprentices and their kitten-crushes!_ Across from her, Longtail rolled his eyes.

“Fernpaw, Dustpelt is a full warrior. Just because he hasn’t mentioned it to you doesn’t mean he doesn't have a mate, ” Longtail said.

With rising alarm, Sandstorm glanced over to Whitestorm. The amused look in his eyes confirmed her panicked thought - Longtail was talking about her.

“Actually,” she said quickly, “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. Have a mate.” Then, realizing she might be giving false hope to Fernpaw, she added, “That is to say - well, I mean-”

Fernpaw deflated, resting her head on her paws dejectedly. “I get it,” she said. “I’m not good enough for him.” Even more alarmed, Sandstorm exchanged a look with Longtail, whose eyes were wide Fernpaw’s admission.

Before either of them could say anything, though, Whitestorm interrupted. “Of course that’s not it, Fernpaw,” he said. “You’re a strong, smart, and capable cat. Sandstorm and Longtail are just trying to tell you that you’re a bit young to think of that sort of thing. Focus on your training now, and when you earn your warrior name, you’ll find a loyal and loving mate, whether that cat is Dustpelt or someone else.” The white warrior lifted his head to the sky and examined it- the dark gray sky was quickly turning lighter. “We’d better get going. Come on, now. Good luck with Cloudpaw, Sandstorm.”

Sandstorm bid them a good patrol and watched them disappear into the gorse tunnel, then turned to the apprentices’ den. Dread tingled in her paws. Was she really ready to challenge Tigerstar?

She shook her head. She was being paranoid. Tigerstar was a good cat - otherwise he’d never have been made leader. And he would surely understand the situation once she and Cloudpaw explained it. With a great sigh, she heaved herself to her paws and headed to the apprentices’ ferns.

As soon as she appeared, Cloudpaw groaned and rolled over. “Five more minutes,” he complained. “We were up so _late_ last night, Sandstorm.”

“I know, but this is important, and we agreed,” Sandstorm said. Cloudpaw didn’t move, so she went over to his nest and prodded him several times. Finally he acquiesced, and followed her out into the clearing.

Darkstripe was there now, and the warriors were gathering around him, but patrols were not yet being assigned. Above, on the Highrock, Tigerstar lounged with an expression of boredom.

Sandstorm bounded up to the base of the Highrock. “Tigerstar!” she called. “Cloudpaw and I were wondering if we could have a word with you.”

The great tabby tom lifted one brow, and behind her, Cloudpaw muttered, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

Shoving down a biting retort, Sandstorm walked around to the base of the rock, where Tigerstar met them. “Thank you,” she said. Tigerstar dipped his head graciously, but his eyes were on Cloudpaw, who settled about a tail-length behind Sandstorm, clearly happy to let her take the lead. “I was just thinking,” she continued, “I’ve been talking with Cloudpaw, and he’s very frustrated with his mentor. I know as a warrior this isn’t my responsibility, but I’m worried about him, and I think he could do better with someone else.”

“Like yourself?” Tigerstar asked. Sandstorm took a step back. Had she imagined the soft growl in his voice?

“Er, no,” she said. “I was actually thinking Frostfur. It’s been a while since she’s had an apprentice, and I think it could take her mind off Lionheart’s loss. Plus, she’s much more experienced and patient than Darkstripe.”

Tigerstar hummed thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving Cloudpaw. Finally he turned away from the apprentice, sweeping his tail over Sandstorm’s shoulder.

“Look,” he said in a low tone. “I know you mean well, but there are several reasons I can’t do that. Firstly, Cloudpaw was _very_ loyal to Fireheart, and I’m sure this is a confusing time for him. I need to keep a close eye on him to ensure his success, and who better to report back to me on his progress than my deputy?”

“Yes, but Darkstripe is-” Sandstorm began to protest.

Tigerstar talked over her insistently. “Moreover, how would it look if I took my deputy’s apprentice away? Do you think the Clan would appreciate that? You’re a smart cat, Sandstorm. You know that they’re still in shock over everything that’s happened this past moon. They’ve lost a beloved leader, and not one, but two warriors have betrayed us. What the Clan needs right now is stability, not this kind of… _uncertainty_.”

“I agree, but-” Sandstorm tried again.

Once more, Tigerstar cut her off. “Now, listen, I know you feel invested, but I’ll talk to Cloudpaw and handle his issue from here. Why don’t you tell Darkstripe to give you the afternoon off? I’d like you fresh for the Gathering tonight,” he finished with a wink. Then he nudged her off, back towards the center of camp.

Feeling slightly disoriented, Sandstorm took several steps in that direction until she was around the corner of the Highrock and out of eyeshot to her leader. What had just happened? Sandstorm prided herself on winning arguments, especially when she knew she was right. How had Tigerstar outtalked her?

Moreover, what was Tigerstar going to tell Cloudpaw? A knot of discomfort announced itself deep in Sandstorm’s gut. Despite everything she told herself about the leader, she had to listen in. Just to make sure.

Carefully, Sandstorm slipped under the branches of one of the scraggly bushes around the edge of the Highrock, then crept forward, partly concealed, until she was within earshot of the conversation.

“…after I was apprenticed, that I didn’t like Darkstripe much,” Cloudpaw was saying. “And I think she took it to heart. It’s not… it's not quite as bad as she makes out, though, sir.”

“I thought that might be the case,” Tigerstar said smoothly.

“But,” Cloudpaw said suddenly, a streak of defiance in his voice, “it’s not… great. I’ve been the only cat on elders’ duty for like a week. I don’t think Ashpaw and Fernpaw have even been in the elders’ den. And he keeps finding stupid things to criticize, even when I know I’m doing well.”

Pride bubbled up in Sandstorm’s chest. _Good for you, Cloudpaw!_

There was a silence, then Tigerstar finally said, in a tone that was almost conspiratorial, “I know that Darkstripe is a poor mentor. He’s a poor deputy, too.”

“Really?” Cloudpaw said, echoing Sandstorm’s thoughts.

“Really,” Tigerstar said. He paused, and Sandstorm imagined him looking back and forth quickly to make sure no cat was listening. “But believe me, Cloudpaw. I’ve seen that you have a lot of potential. And I know that if you can weather this particular storm, you’ll make a fine warrior. Think of this as a trial to overcome.”

There was another pause. “I think I know what you mean,” Cloudpaw said finally.

“Good. Now, you know you can count on me if you _really_ need to change mentors. But it might delay your training quite a bit. Why, you’d practically have to start over for a second time,” Tigerstar said.

“No!” Cloudpaw yelped. “No, I want to be a warrior. I’ll be great, you’ll see. I can weather the storm.”

“I know you can,” Tigerstar said in a promising tone. “Now, let’s get you on a patrol, shall we?”

There was a scuffle of paws, and Sandstorm realized both toms were heading towards her. Quickly and silently, she scurried backwards and disappeared into the circle of warriors surrounding Darkstripe. After a moment, Cloudpaw appeared beside her, looking just as disoriented as she once again felt.

“How’d it go?” Sandstorm whispered, but before the apprentice could answer, Darkstripe’s eyes landed on her.

“Sandstorm, you’ll be on Brightclaw’s patrol this afternoon.”

Sandstorm wanted to cry out with frustration. Why was Darkstripe so determined to keep her apart from his apprentice? Why was she always assigned to nearly every patrol? But then she remembered what Tigerstar had said.

“Actually, since I’m going to the Gathering tonight, Tigerstar said not to let you put me on an afternoon patrol,” she said.

Darkstripe rolled his eyes. “Fine, you can go on Brindleface’s border patrol, then. It’s at sunhigh.”

Brindleface gave Sandstorm a friendly look, and she nodded back, before slipping away to get some much-needed sleep back in the warrior’s den.

—

That evening, after waking from her second (second!) nap of the day, and sharing tongues with Dustpelt (who had returned from his secret mission exhausted, preoccupied and insistent that he couldn’t tell her about it), Sandstorm joined the Gathering group at the gorse tunnel as they prepared to leave.

At the head of the group, Tigerstar and Darkstripe stood shoulder-to-shoulder, counting heads, with Cinderpaw standing a bit behind them nervously - Yellowfang must have been busy. Among the group were Sandstorm herself, Dustpelt, Whitestorm, Longtail, Ashpaw and Fernpaw, and the newest warriors, Swiftstrike, Brightclaw and Thorntooth, who were all quivering with excitement. Sandstorm was also surprised to see Goldenflower standing near Tigerstar, though she looked a bit uncomfortable. She must have left her kits with one of the other queens. Finally, Patchpelt and Halftail stood behind the apprentices having a whispered argument with Smallear, who seemed to be insisting that he could make the journey despite his increasing joint pain.

Tigerstar waited for Smallear to be sent away before raising his tail in the signal to leave. As one, the group climbed the ravine and plunged into the undergrowth.

Sandstorm had been looking forward to spending some time with Dustpelt tonight, but he was glued firmly to Fernpaw’s side - probably trying to reassure her for her first Gathering. And up ahead, her former mentor, Whitestorm, was preoccupied with Ashpaw. Sandstorm found herself falling in beside Longtail, who gave her a surprised but friendly look.

At a pause, she flicked an ear towards the new warriors. “Remember that?” she said in a low voice.

Longtail nodded. His eyes shone with pride as he glanced at his former apprentice, Swiftstrike. “Feels a little weird being this old,” he said.

Sandstorm snorted. “No kidding. Sometimes I thought Dustpelt and I were going to be the youngest warriors forever.”

“Now you know how I felt when I was made a warrior. It took like eight moons for the next warrior to earn their name,” Longtail said. Sandstorm purred.

When Tigerstar gave the signal, they raced down the slope into Fourtrees, and Sandstorm and Longtail stood chatting near the edge of the clearing for a few moments, each looking for a place to settle down.

“Look, Dustpelt’s finally let Fernpaw alone,” Sandstorm said, indicating the brown warrior with her tail. He was chatting amiably to a gray ShadowClan molly. “Shall we join him?”

Longtail shrugged. “Sure.”

When they came up to Dustpelt, the ShadowClan cat was telling a story about fighting a couple of kittypets. Once that was finished, Sandstorm quickly introduced herself and Longtail.

“I’m Flintfang. I use he pronouns,” the ShadowClan warrior said, dipping his head.

“How’s the prey running?” Sandstorm said politely.

Flintfang shrugged. “Winter’s never kind to any cat, but the thaw brought the frogs out of hibernation, and now they’re hopping all over the place once more.”

Sandstorm suppressed a gag at the thought of eating frogs. _I can’t believe ShadowClan live like that!_

A russet molly came up to Flintfang, lashing her tail back and forth anxiously. She gave the ThunderClan cats a suspicious eye. “I think they’re going to start in a moment, Flintfang. We’d better-”

Whatever she was trying to say was lost in the noise as, up on the Great Rock, the leaders sounded the call to begin the Gathering.

“Looks like they’re starting now, actually,” Longtail said with sarcastic cheer in his voice. For a second, Sandstorm thought the red ShadowClanner was going to lunge at him, but she seemed to compose herself and settle next to Flintfang, her tail-tip still twitching with anxiety.

Sandstorm turned to the Great Rock. Next to the other leaders, Tigerstar looked huge and menacing. Next to him, a small gray-and-white tom was crouching, showing deference to the other leaders. Sandstorm narrowed her eyes.

That had to be the representative for ShadowClan, but where was their leader? For that matter, where was their deputy? She didn’t remember either of them looking like that.

Sandstorm turned a bit unsubtly to the Flintfang and the red molly, but they both avoided meeting her gaze, keeping their eyes fixed firmly to the Great Rock. _No wonder the red molly seemed so anxious. They didn’t want us asking questions once we saw their leader wasn’t here._

Tallstar cleared his throat and began his report in a loud, clear voice. “WindClan is pleased to report that we are settling back into the moor quite well, and rabbits are beginning to run again. Some of you may also have noticed that the heather has started blooming again. As we often do, we’d like to warn you that this can attract more Twolegs to the moors, who might then venture deeper into the forest. In addition, Tawnypaw has begun her apprenticeship to Tornear. We wish her well.”

Cats shouted Tawnypaw’s name, and Sandstorm joined in. She couldn’t spot the apprentice in the crowd.

Crookedstar stepped forward next. “RiverClan has some sad news to report. My daughter, Silverstream, has… unfortunately passed away while giving birth to her kits. We mourn her deeply.”

Despite the leader’s sad tone, Sandstorm couldn’t help but bristle. The RiverClan cats had barged into camp not three days after the battle with the rogues, and demanded that they take Silverstream’s kits. Most cats had seemed all to happy to let them go, especially now that their father was a self-declared traitor to the Clan.

But Sandstorm didn't see it that way. Those kits were half ThunderClan, and that meant ThunderClan had at least as much a right to them as RiverClan. Besides, Graystripe wasn’t a bad cat. He had made a grave mistake, that was sure, but given time he would have proven himself a loyal warrior to ThunderClan once more. Sandstorm had known him for all her life. He was fundamentally good. He had just been blinded by loyalty to Fireheart, or he would have still been here, and he would have wanted his kits around.

Uneasy mutterings broke Sandstorm away from her thoughts. She narrowed her eyes. Up on the Great Rock, the ShadowClan representative seemed to be waiting for Tigerstar to speak, who himself was insisting on going last. Finally, seeming skittish, the ShadowClan cat sat up and stepped forward to address the Clans.

“My name is Fleetwhisker, though many of you know me as Runningnose, ShadowClan’s medicine cat. As Tallstar brought up, warmer weather has brought Twolegs back into the forest, and so Nightstar and Cinderfur chose to stay behind this moon to watch over the camp. There’s no danger, luckily - just a couple of kits who wander a bit close for our liking,” he said. Quickly he reached up to wipe his nose nervously, then added, “The swamp has thawed, so ShadowClan’s prey is running well once more. Tigerstar, would you like to…?”

Without responding, Tigerstar shoved past Runningnose and smiled, baring his fangs. “ThunderClan has much news, both good and bad, to report.

“First, as many of you have noticed, Bluestar is no longer with us. I will be getting to that later, but I am the new leader of ThunderClan, and my deputy is Darkstripe.”

Sandstorm craned her neck to see the dark tabby stand up proudly at the base of the Great Rock, and rolled her eyes at the gleam in his. What a furball.

“Second,” Tigerstar continued, “We have three new warriors to announce. Swiftstrike, Brightclaw, and Thorntooth have all earned their warrior names with great honor from the Clan.” He paused to allow their names be shouted, then said, “We also have two new apprentices, Ashpaw and Fernpaw, whose mentors are Whitestorm and Dustpelt respectively.”

Beside Sandstorm, Dustpelt licked his chest quickly as the ShadowClan cats quietly congratulated him. Sandstorm leaned into him slightly, letting their pelts brush, and swept her tail over his shoulders.

“Finally, you may wonder how Bluestar has passed on,” Tigerstar rumbled. He looked mournful. “It is a terrible circumstance, and one which I am loathe to tell you. Unfortunately, in the midst of battle, one of her own warriors turned on her, and took her final life. He planned to kill me too, and take the Clan in the confusion, but I was able to defeat him in battle and uncover his crimes.”

“Who?” Tallstar asked.

“Fireheart,” Tigerstar said dramatically. There were a surprising amount of shocked gasps from the gathered cats. “No cat could have seen it coming. We exiled him, but he took Graystripe with him, who insisted on remaining loyal to Fireheart rather than his Clan. If you see either of them, chase them out of your territory. One of my warriors has confirmed that they are not in the Twolegplace, which means that they must have crossed Clan territory to leave.”

….’one of my warriors?’ Sandstorm didn't remember any such patrol. She glanced at Dustpelt, who looked both exhausted and worried, and realized what his special mission must have been.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Graystripe and Fireheart had been exiled, not released for a hunt. But before she could think on it too long, she noticed the faces of the ShadowClan cats - pale and wide-eyed, staring at one another with alarm.

“Are you all right?” she whispered to Flintfang, but he ignored her.

“Does anyone have anything more to share?” Tallstar asked from the Great Rock. When no cat responded, he declared the Gathering ended.

Quickly Sandstorm stood and turned to the ShadowClanners to question them, but they had already disappeared into the crowd. Stumped, she sat back onto her haunches.

Longtail snorted. “RiverClan were awfully quiet, weren’t they? ‘Nothing else to report,’ my arse.”

“Don’t you think ShadowClan were acting strange?” Sandstorm said.

“Don’t they always act strange?” Dustpelt said, and she gave him a lopsided smile.

“Sandstorm is right, though. Bet you anything it’s not _Twolegs_ keeping Nightstar and Cinderfur in camp,” Longtail said.

That wasn’t quite what she was talking about, but that statement had been odd too. “Maybe they’re ill,” Sandstorm mused. “They were both elders before the battle with Brokenstar. They were probably only supposed to be temporary leadership.”

Longtail shrugged. “I’m not so sure about that. It seemed as though Bluestar thought they were the only ShadowClanners trustworthy enough to lead the Clan. She made pretty sure that no one would challenge them before Nightstar got his nine lives.”

“Maybe she was wrong,” Sandstorm muttered.

Longtail raised his brow at her, but said nothing. Beside them, Dustpelt stood. “Look, Darkstripe is gathering everyone over there,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Sandstorm followed her friends over to the ThunderClan party, but she couldn’t stop thinking about ShadowClan. The bizarre excuse for a lack of leader, the stricken looks Flintfang and the red molly had had when the traitors had came up.

And the fact that Redtail’s ghost kept telling her to visit Ravenpaw’s grave…

What was really going on in ShadowClan?


	13. Bonus Chapter: Fleetwhisker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kind of conflicted on adding in this snippet as a bonus chapter (as opposed to publishing it as a separate oneshot or not publishing it at all) but I kind of decided that things that happen in next Tuesday's chapter and beyond make much more sense with this context than without it.

Fleetwhisker barely had a moment to find a suitable, _quiet_ place for ShadowClan to regroup before Russetfur and Flintfang bounded up to him, concern etched in every feature. “Did you hear what Tigerstar said?” Russetfur hissed immediately.

“Be quiet,” Fleetwhisker said. “We can't talk about this here.”

Tallpoppy bounded up soon after. “We left him in camp with our dying leader!” she cried.

“Quiet,” Fleetwhisker begged.

Tallpoppy paid no mind. “He’s in the nursery right now! I told him I trusted him to look after Cedarkit and Cinnamonkit!”

Two RiverClan warriors glanced over curiously, so Fleetwhisker was forced to slap his tail over her mouth. “ _Quiet_ ,” he said, “until we’re back on ShadowClan territory.” Tallpoppy’s eyes glittered mutinously, but when he took his tail away, she said nothing.

Dawncloud and Rowanberry came back next, muttering between themselves but luckily not saying anything aloud. Oakpaw followed quickly. Thank StarClan it had been Oakpaw and not Ratpaw, who would have… well, he was too unpredictable to say, but StarClan knew it wouldn’t be good.

With all of the ShadowClan cats present, Fleetwhisker led them away from Fourtrees, moving quickly so hopefully no cat would notice how small their party was. They had purposefully arrived second just to obscure that same fact - a time when only one Clan would witness the size of their group, and not three. Quickly the Clan crossed the stretch of land between Fourtrees and the Thunderpath, and crossed there. This was no time to be taking the tunnel which would lead them onto ThunderClan land.

Fleetwhisker tried to hurry ahead, his mind racing. He trusted Fireheart. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have left him alone in the nursery with the kits. But what about what Tigerstar had said? If Fireheart had been exiled, it was their duty to exact justice on him by refusing to give him shelter. But if he had been wrongfully exiled, that duty evaporated. And Graystripe had said that he and Fireheart had _chosen_ to leave ThunderClan. Had Tigerstar decided to spin this as a betrayal? It was the sort of thing Brokenstar might do. But then, if that was the case, who had killed Bluestar? A rogue, perhaps? Or maybe it really had been Fireheart.

Russetfur caught up to him, her fangs bared with frustration. “Runningnose, stop. Stop walking away from us. We have to deal with this.”

She was right. Fleetwhisker turned around and faced the Gathering party. Apart from Bouldernose and Ratpaw, it consisted of literally every healthy ShadowClan cat remaining. That meant that soon, these cats would be all that was left.

_Unless I can save some of the others._

But that was the voice of false hope.

Fleetwhisker sighed. “Okay. Fireheart… might be dangerous.”

“Every second we spend here discussing this is another moment he could be harming our children,” Tallpoppy growled, lashing her tail back and forth.

Fleetwhisker lifted one paw. “He’s been here for almost half a moon, Tallpoppy. If he was going to try to hurt us, it would have been easy to, especially with Graystripe around to help him cover his tracks. He may or may not be a traitor to ThunderClan, but he’s not Brokenstar.”

“You say that,” Tallpoppy mewed darkly, “but Brokenstar started off by killing his leader, too.”

This was a fair point. Fleetwhisker considered it for a moment.

“Why don’t we go to the camp, so we can have this conversation with Bouldernose? He can tell us if there’s been any trouble while we’ve been gone. If there hasn’t, he’s at least not an immediate danger,” Flintfang suggested.

Fleetwhisker dipped his head. “Okay, good idea. Let’s go.”

More quickly now, he led the group back to the camp. Bouldernose, sitting outside, startled when he spotted them coming. Then the large gray tabby quickly flattened his fur and purred, touching noses with Russetfur when she approached.

“You all nearly scared my nuts off, running at me like that. What’s happened?” he said.

“Clearly nothing, since you have to ask,” Dawncloud rasped. Bouldernose tipped his head to one side.

“Russetfur, can you-” Fleetwhisker said, and before he could even finish, she nodded and began whispering urgently into Bouldernose’s ear.

As that happened, Fleetwhisker turned to the rest. “Okay, there’s no immediate danger, so let’s all take a moment to think about this rationally. I want to hear what every cat has to say. Flintfang?”

Flintfang nodded. “I… I obviously don’t know whether or not he’s done it, and I don’t much care, because that’s ThunderClan’s business,” he said shakily. “What concerns me is that by harboring the two of them, we're sticking our noses _into_ ThunderClan’s business. At a time when we have barely enough full warriors to fill a patrol, and ThunderClan’s leader has all nine lives and not a small dose of arrogance. By giving these two a place to stay, I think we’re sort of throwing ourselves into more danger.”

“ThunderClan don’t have to know, though,” Dawncloud said, then looked askance at Fleetwhisker. He nodded, and she continued, “There’s no reason ShadowClan need go spilling all its secrets at every Gathering. So long as you all can keep your mouths shut, there’s no reason we should worry about ThunderClan’s anger.”

“But if we keep it from them, and they find out later, they’ll be even more angry about it. Do you want to give them _another_ reason to invade and install the leader of their choice?” Flintfang shot back.

Dawncloud opened her mouth to retort, but Fleetwhisker cut her off. “That’s enough. I understand both your positions. Rowanberry?” he said.

The elderly queen hesitated. “I don’t know Fireheart, but Graystripe’s hunting skills have been filling my belly recently. I can’t say a word against him with a clear conscience. And if a cat as noble as he is so loyal to Fireheart, can Fireheart really be that bad? It’s not him that reminds me of Brokenstar. It’s Tigerstar.”

Fleetwhisker dipped his head. “Tallpoppy?”

She raised her chin, and looked around the small circle of cats, finally letting her eyes rest on Fleetwhisker. He shivered. For a moment she looked just like her former mate, Blackfoot, in his moments of cold and calculated anger. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Tallpoppy declared. “Brokenstar started by killing his leader, too. Fireheart isn’t to be trusted. If we don’t drive him off of our territory, we’ve made fools of ourselves.”

“Okay,” Fleetwhisker said. He looked to Russetfur, who by now had finished explaining the situation to Bouldernose.

“I think Tallpoppy’s being dramatic,” she said, cutting her eyes at the taller molly, “but she’s got a point. And besides, like Flintfang said, we really can’t afford to invite more trouble into our camp.”

“Bouldernose?” Fleetwhisker said.

“I… missed the first part of this conversation,” Bouldernose admitted, “but it _has_ been quiet all night. I looked in the nursery earlier, and Fireheart’s fast asleep in there. Graystripe’s snoring away in the apprentice’s den. If they wanted to try something, wouldn’t it have been tonight, while we were all gone?”

“But the trouble is,” Russetfur snapped, “even if they didn’t try anything, even if they’re _innocent_ , ThunderClan thinks they aren’t, and that means danger for us.”

Privately, Fleetwhisker thought that they ought to be more concerned with the correct administration of justice than avoiding ThunderClan’s claws. They were warriors; they were supposed to do the honorable thing, not the safe thing. But it seemed he was outnumbered, and besides, he had one more cat to ask.

“Oakpaw?” he said.

“He’s just an apprentice, Runningnose,” Russetfur said exasperatedly.

Fleetwhisker crouched down to look Oakpaw in the eye more evenly, but the brown apprentice looked away. “He’s a member of this Clan, and a witness to the Gathering,” he said. “He deserves a say as much as any other cat.”

Nervously, the apprentice spoke. “I think.. I think there’s one thing you’re almost all missing,” he said. “And it’s that Graystripe is hunting for us around the clock. If we kicked Fireheart out, we’d lose Graystripe too for sure. And we all know from.. _before_ that Ratpaw and I can’t keep the Clan fed by ourselves.”

The statement hung in their air, unspoken. _If we drive them out, we’ll all starve._

“I think we don’t have a choice. They have to stay,” Oakpaw finished.

“Does any cat disagree with that?” Fleetwhisker said. The small group exchanged glances.

“I still think that if ThunderClan finds out, we’re at much greater risk than the risk of losing one hunter,” Russetfur scoffed, but she looked uneasy, and no other cat spoke up to support her this time around. Even Tallpoppy avoided looking at him.

“Okay, it seems we’re agreed on the best course of action, then,” Fleetwhisker sighed. “I… I’ll talk to him about what happened. If he says he’s innocent, we’ll take his word for it, and let them stay. If he admits to it, we’ll… meet again. And decide what to do. Is that fair?”

Once again, no cat spoke up. Fleetwhisker nodded. “Then it’s agreed,” he said hoarsely. “Just… please don’t go bringing it up around them before I’ve had the chance to ask. We don’t want to scare them off.”


	14. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireheart gets nursery duty on the day of the Gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick content note: Cinnamonkit is going to grow up to be Rowanclaw. If I've mangled any aspect of his transition, in this chapter or in further chapters, please do not hesitate to let me know. I want explicitly trans characters in my fic, but more importantly I want explicitly trans characters that real-life trans people can actually see themselves in, and being cis myself, I'm pretty sure I'll make some mistakes along the way. Thank you for your patience and support.

It was the day of the Gathering, and Fireheart couldn’t leave.

When he’d landed poorly hunting in the swamp with Russetfur, his back left leg had been hit with a sharper pain than the rest. After that, he kept up on willpower alone, and had come home victorious with a frog and two shrews - only for Fleetwhisker to take one look at his bad leg and declare him unfit for further patrols.

“You saw how much prey I caught! ShadowClan needs every hunter it can get right now. You can’t afford _not_ to let me hunt,” Fireheart had argued.

Fleetwhisker had looked him in the eye, and his cold look was so startling Fireheart actually took a step back. “Fireheart, this is serious,” he had said. “You may have a limp for the rest of your life, because you refused to rest like I told you to. You’re not going out again until I tell you that you can. There will be no guilting me into it this time.”

The next day, he’d gotten a glimpse of the moon - waxing far too quickly. Since then, the Gathering had hung over his head like a threat, working together with his bad leg to hold him hostage.

He had no plan, and how could he? Perhaps Tigerstar would say nothing, preferring to keep ThunderClan’s secrets as secrets, but if he spoke with that silver tongue, Fireheart would have nowhere left to go. No Clan would take him. Princess wouldn’t be able to shelter him for more than a couple of nights. And the barn would be much too far a trip for him to make, even with Graystripe’s unerring support.

Graystripe, for his part, seemed to have thought little of the waxing of the moon. Either that, or he was unwilling to let his concern show in public.

Their only option soon would be to become rogues, outside of Clan territory. The very thought made Fireheart recoil. Clan life had been his savior - he loathed to abandon it so soon.

 _Perhaps I could look kind of sad outside of a Twoleg den for a couple of days, and they’d take me in,_ Fireheart thought idly, but the thought was almost as unappealing as the thought of becoming a rogue, and so he shook it off.

It was being cooped up that was driving him to such thoughts. He needed to be out, to be doing something for the good of other cats. He couldn’t keep being such a burden. Cats weren’t meant to sit alone inside a medicine den, staring at a stone wall. Fireheart stood up, to leave.

“No you don’t,” Fleetwhisker snapped from the other part of the den. Fireheart wasn’t sure how the medicine cat had known he was going to leave - until he realized he’d huffed pretty heavily trying to stand.

“I can’t just lie around here all day. It’s driving me mad,” Fireheart said.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Fleetwhisker said. He stuck his head out of the crack in the rock that led to the back part of the den. “If I see you take one more step, we can start weaning you off the poppy seeds a bit early,” the medicine cat threatened.

Fireheart winced. He’d been taking one each evening, per Fleetwhisker’s orders, to keep the pain from his various injuries stuffed down far enough that he could sleep. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage without them. _Just one more thing to worry about if the Gathering goes badly tonight,_ he thought grimly. 

“I don’t have to go hunting. Just… any task, please,” Fireheart begged. “I can’t keep doing nothing. I feel like such a burden. And don’t tell me that my leg is stopping me from getting around. My own apprentice back in ThunderClan had a much worse leg injury than this, and she manages fine.”

Fleetwhisker considered him. “Fine,” he snapped finally. “If you go watch over the kits, Tallpoppy can go to the Gathering tonight. Just tell her I said it was alright first. And don’t play any games with them. I want you lying there like a mother who’s just given birth.”

“Yes, sir,” Fireheart said, far too excited at the prospect of leaving the medicine den to argue or question the orders. He shot out the entrance, then trotted more slowly across the camp, relishing the feel of the weak, early-spring sunlight on his shoulders before ducking under the roots of the willow tree, where the nursery was located.

Tallpoppy was inside, as Fleetwhisker had indicated, and the kits seemed to be asleep. She quickly curled her tail protectively over them. “What do you want?” she said.

Fireheart dipped his head. “Fleetwhisker thought you might want to go to the Gathering tonight. He told me I should watch the kits so you could,” he said.

She examined him, eyes narrowed. Finally she said, “I know the kits like you.”

“Um, yes,” Fireheart said, confused.

“…don’t let them stay up too late,” Tallpoppy said.

Fireheart dipped his head deeply to her as she brushed past him. At the loss of warmth, the kits stirred, and Fireheart quickly slid into the nest with them and began to quietly soothe them under his breath. After a few moments, they seemed to have fallen asleep again.

With the kits safely knocked out, Fireheart took a moment to look around the den. The dirt floor was scraped clean of moss, but he could smell that it used to grow here in multitudes - it must have been cleared out when the sickness hit, to prevent it from carrying it. The tree overhead didn’t feel threatening or heavy like Fireheart had thought it might. Instead, the roots all around him made him feel quite safe. He could see very well into the center of camp, but no outsider would guess that this was where the Clan’s most precious belongings - kits - were sheltered. That is, not when there were ShadowClan cats in the nursery. His orange pelt would probably stand out against the dirt.

Fireheart relaxed back into the cool, mossy nest. This den was as cool and quiet as the medicine den, but much darker. It was a relaxing atmosphere that lent itself well to nap-taking. He could only imagine how cozy it must have been in its heyday.

Fondly, he glanced down at the kits. For the first time, he wondered where their mother was. Sick? Or already gone? It was clear that Tallpoppy wasn’t their mother but rather more what Speckletail seemed to be to most of ThunderClan’s young. Fireheart didn’t know the word - he’d never spent enough time in the nursery.

He did have a soft spot for kits, though. He couldn’t help but purr as he looked over these two. He hadn’t had time for nursery visits as an apprentice, but once Cloudpaw was in the picture, he tried to go in every couple of days or so. It ended up being often enough that Ashkit and Fernkit grew up thinking he was their father, since their own, whoever he was, was so absent; Fireheart hadn’t been able to bear telling them himself that he wasn’t theirs. Brindleface had done it, finally, and the next time he visited she'd purred to him that they hadn’t believed her the first time she’d said it. 

He should've spent more time with her, back when he still had the chance. Brindleface was gentle, and kind, and unlike some others in the Clan, she had never doubted him or been hostile to him. She had simply watched him with a quiet faith, and when Cloudpaw came along, she took him happily, adopting him as her own without hesitation. She was a good cat, and whatever friendship they had had, Fireheart had squandered it. He would never see the kind look in her eyes again, no matter what happened now.

And kits - would he ever have kits of his own? Could he? When he and Graystripe were cast out, they would live alone, with no Clan to speak of. Fireheart had never given thought before to how rogue mollies ended up with kits, but there never seemed to be a father around. Would Fireheart ever get the chance to raise his own sons and daughters now? How much had Tigerstar taken from him?

“Are you our new den-mother, then?” came an amused mew. Fireheart looked up. It was Russetfur, peeking in between two of the roots. She stepped forward, half inside the den, half out.

“Just looking after them so Tallpoppy can go to the Gathering,” he said, but didn’t hide the question in his tone.

“I just got back from patrol,” Russetfur said.

“And you decided you’d come talk to me?” he said.

Russetfur shrugged, then smiled, her overbite letting her fangs show even in the friendly gesture. “Felt like it,” she said noncommittally. After a moment’s silence, she gestured her tail at the kits and added, “They have kittypet blood, too. Their father’s father. Are you surprised?” she continued, raising a brow at the look on Fireheart's face. “If ThunderClan made you feel lesser-than for your blood, they were fools, for starters. But also hypocrites. Their leader many seasons ago left the forest to become a kittypet. He was the reason the law about kittypets was added to the warrior code.”

“You’d never think it from the way some cats treated me there,” Fireheart said cautiously.

Russetfur immediately snorted, as though she’d expected the answer. “That’s ThunderClan for you,” she said, “no offense.”

The she-kit stirred again, and Fireheart leaned down to lick its head a couple of times. When he looked up again, Russetfur’s gaze had softened considerably. “You’re very good with them,” she said. “Did you leave kits of your own in ThunderClan?”

Fireheart hesitated. She was being so friendly. No… not just friendly. She was treating him like a Clanmate, if a new one. A bubble of guilt welled up inside him. It wouldn’t last long, not with the Gathering looming. Soon enough, Russetfur would see him as a Clan traitor just like everyone else. _So I guess I’d better enjoy the friendliness while it lasts._

“…none of my own, just my nephew,” he said finally. “I brought him to the forest when he was young. But I did help raise him.”

Russetfur nodded. “I thought something like that might be the case. You’re a bit young to be a father.”

“Tell that to Graystripe,” Fireheart muttered without thinking. Russetfur’s ears pricked with interest, so he said quickly, “I’ll tell you later.” _Never._ “You’d better go rest so you won’t look so exhausted for the Gathering.”

Russetfur made an offended noise. “Me? Exhausted? Never.” But she turned and left the den, leaving Fireheart alone once more.

With no other cat to speak to, Fireheart quickly grew tired, especially in the wonderful, peaceful dark of the nursery. He sank back into the mossy nest, letting himself fall into blissful sleep.

—

When Fireheart woke, it was to the sound of excited squeals and giggles. He blinked the sleep from his eyes quickly to find Graystripe, crouching across the den, playing with the kits.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Graystripe said with a grin.

Fireheart glanced outside. The sky was dark. It was likely that, apart from the sick cats and whoever was left on guard, they were the only cats left in camp. “Tallpoppy told me not to let them stay up too late,” he said.

The she-kit rolled down from Graystripe’s back, where she had been perched. “Aw, Fireheart! I’m not tired at all,” she said.

“Yeah!” the tomkit chimed in. “Plus, we’re ShadowClan cats. We’re supposed to sleep all day and hunt at night!” With that, he unsheathed his tiny claws and barreled at Graystripe.

“Ouch!” Graystripe said. Gently, he pushed the tomkit away. “That hurts. Claws in when we’re playing or training, okay?”

For a moment all Fireheart could think of were Graystripe’s kits, still in ThunderClan - though maybe RiverClan had come to take them by now. There had been a tom and a she-kit, just like these two. If Fireheart tried hard enough, he could imagine Graystripe playing with them, teaching them like this. Tigerstar had taken away his opportunity to be a father, too.

The idea should’ve made Fireheart angry on his friend’s behalf, but the only emotions he could muster up were exhaustion and misery.

“Have you eaten yet, kits?” he asked.

“I brought them food earlier. That’s why I came in,” Graystripe said. The she-kit nodded, glancing at him with admiration, but the tom glared at Fireheart.

“We have names, you know,” he declared crossly.

Fireheart realized he hadn’t bothered to learn them, instead convincing himself he’d be gone from Clan territories before he needed to know. But now he needed to know, all of an hour or two before he’d be driven away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know them yet. Can you tell me?”

“I’m Cedarkit,” the tom said, puffing his chest up with pride.

His sister hesitated, then said, “I’m Cinnamonkit.”

Graystripe purred with amusement. “Are you sure about that?”

Cinnamonkit sniffed. “Don’t like it much.”

“Why’s that?” Fireheart said.

She looked away. “Girls’ name.” Cedarkit, who had been playfully stalking Graystripe’s tail, paused and came over to her, licking her ear affectionately.

Fireheart thought he might understand, but to make sure, he asked, “You don’t like being a molly?”

Cinnamonkit hesitated, then nodded.

Fireheart leaned in close. “You don’t have to be,” he said. “Not if you don’t want. But you do have to tell Tallpoppy once she gets back. She can't help you if she doesn’t know.”

Cinnamonkit hesitated, then came up to Fireheart and nuzzled him. He lifted a paw to press gently against the kit’s back, but inside, the affectionate gesture only topped off his misery. This might be the last time he spoke to either kit. He looked up to Graystripe, who was already watching with equal sorrow.

“Kits, can you… handle yourselves for a moment? Graystripe and I need to talk alone, about warrior business,” Fireheart managed to choke out.

The two kits sombered at his tone, scampering back into the moss nest and huddling together quietly as Fireheart and Graystripe crept outside the den.

The camp was nearly abandoned, apart from Bouldernose, whose light gray pelt was visible outside the entrance. For the first time, Fireheart had to wonder where the sick cats were. He didn’t spend much time out in the main part of camp, but he couldn’t think which den could really hold so many ill cats. All of the bushes in the camp looked far too small to serve as such a large den. He couldn’t hear any labored breathing, and the wind carried only a hint of something that suggested sickness.

“Have you thought about what we’re going to do?” Graystripe said quietly.

Fireheart shook his head. “Have you?”

“No, but I thought you might have,” Graystripe admitted. “I didn’t really want to think about it. Like maybe if I just ignored it, it wouldn't happen.”

“But here we are.”

“Here we are.”

Graystripe hesitated, then added, “We could probably go back to Princess for another night, at least. Then we’ll think of something.”

“But then to get back onto land where we can hunt properly, we’d have to cross either Clan territory or Twolegplace,” Fireheart pointed out. “Besides… maybe it’s best we just let her think we’re living with ShadowClan,” he said miserably, staring at his paws again..

“Are you fucking serious?” Graystripe said.

Startled, Fireheart looked up. His friend was staring at him as though he’d grown another head. “That way she wouldn’t have to worry about us living in the wild, on our own, without anyone to back us up,” Fireheart said. 

Graystripe snarled, and the gesture was so fierce and so sudden that Fireheart suddenly took a step back, then another. A jolt of pain shot up his injured leg, and he flinched. But Graystripe stood, and stepped forward without hesitation until their faces were only a mouse-tail apart. “You’re flea-brained if you think abandoning your sister without ever speaking to her again is a good idea. You can go off and wallow in your own misery all you want come tomorrow morning, but I’ll be going to see her - and tell her what you decided - with or without you,” Graystripe hissed.

“Graystripe, I-” Fireheart began, but Graystripe hissed once more, this time wordless and furious, before stalking away. 

Fireheart slumped. Now the only cat left in the world that he could trust was angry with him, too. He was so stupid. Heart heavy, Fireheart turned back into the nursery and curled around the kits once more, who asked him where Graystripe had gone. Licking their heads to calm and quiet them down, he said, “He just had to go to bed. Like you two do, too.”

This got the kits to lie down at his belly and fall asleep, and Fireheart laid his tail over them, feeling their steady breathing, their tiny heartbeats. He’d been that small once. The world had been so simple then.

Closing his eyes, Fireheart sighed. He knew it was a stupid idea to just up and leave without talking to Princess. But everything was so hard, so complicated now. He had wanted to believe that he and Graystripe could just run away and start over without worrying about anything else. But that couldn’t happen. They hadn’t, for better or worse, and they were here now, and if nothing else Fireheart would have to defend his innocence before ShadowClan come morning.

The thought wasn’t reassuring, but now that his life had changed so much, what thought was? Uneasily, Fireheart slid once more into sleep.

—

The next morning, he woke without opening his eyes, determined to let his peace last a moment longer. But to his surprise, he had not woken to any commotion. There were no cats snarling at him to get up, to leave their camp and kits alone. In fact - yes, the kits were still there, curled peacefully at his belly.

Peeking one eye open, Fireheart took quick stock of the nursery. Tallpoppy was fast asleep on a scraped-over patch of dirt, and suddenly he felt a pang of guilt for sleeping in her nest. Outside, some warriors - Russetfur, Bouldernose, Littlecloud - were sharing tongues, though no cat was eating a morning meal, as the fresh-kill pile appeared to be empty. Fleetwhisker, having emerged from his den, seemed to be talking out patrol assignments. Graystripe stood uneasily a few tail-lengths away.

Quietly, so he didn’t wake the kits or Tallpoppy, Fireheart slipped out of the nursery and came over to Graystripe.

“They’re not- they’re not saying anything. They’re not doing anything,” Graystripe hissed urgently.

Fireheart nodded. “Do you think perhaps Tigerstar didn’t say anything?” he said.

“He must not have.”

For a moment they sat in silence, before guilt welled up in Fireheart and he blurted, “I’m sorry. I was being a flea-brain. I know.”

Graystripe looked away. “Yeah. You were.”

Fireheart wasn’t sure what to say to that. He wasn’t sure if Graystripe would appreciate touch right now, so he stayed still, quiet.

Finally Graystripe sighed, and looked at him again. “I told you last winter, when we kept fighting about Silverstream, that I would lay down my life for yours. That’s still true, and it always will be. But you can’t do things like that. You can’t say things like that. Your sister loves you, and she would be heartbroken if she never saw you again. You can’t take that for granted, Fireheart,” he said seriously. “I would give anything for a sibling like that.”

With a start, Fireheart remembered that Graystripe’s only sibling was Darkstripe. He couldn’t suppress a shudder. After another moment’s hesitation, he leaned towards his friend so that their pelts brushed.

“I’ll be a brother to you,” Fireheart promised. Graystripe purred and licked his ear.

For now, they were safe in ShadowClan. Things were going to be all right.


	15. Tigerstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tigerstar can’t stop seeing ghosts. Later, he finds something strange in the forest.

The nursery was warm and sweet-smelling as Tigerstar pushed his head in, already purring. “How are my favorite little kits today?” he said.

Without hesitation, Bramblekit and Tawnykit came bounding up on unsteady legs. They were about a moon old now, and their legs were still shaky when they stood. Their blue eyes shone as he grinned at them. “Papa!” Tawnykit squealed.

Quickly Tigerstar lifted his head before they could assault it and scanned the nursery. Speckletail was dozing with her two kits at her belly, and Yellowfang was balefully scraping together moss for what was probably going to be Willowpelt’s nest. Goldenflower was watching him affectionately from her own nest.

A flicker of a blue flashed behind his mate’s head. Tigerstar blinked it away.

Brushing quickly past his kits, he came to settle behind Goldenflower and licked her ear. “Good morning,” he murmured.

Bramblekit and Tawnykit wobbled back over to them, and Goldenflower beckoned them back to her side with her tail. Purring, she said quietly, “Have the patrols gone out yet, Mr. Leader?”

Feigning offense, Tigerstar pulled back and held a paw to his chest. “Of course,” he said. “Do you think I can’t run my Clan?”

“Just checking,” Goldenflower hummed. “Kits, are you excited to see Daddy?”

“Very!” Tawnykit replied.

“Very very!” Bramblekit added, shooting a glare at his sister.

“I’m glad to see you too,” Tigerstar purred. It wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t really planned on being too involved with the kits originally, but they were refreshingly sweet, instead of spoiled and rude like most apprentices. He’d never spent much time in the nursery before, but he thought he understood now what he hadn’t before - why Redtail, for example, had been so willing to forgo patrols for so long when Sandkit was born. Tigerstar had teased him for it endlessly, but now he thought he knew why his old friend had stepped back for so long.

They had been friends, hadn’t they? They could still have been. Redtail could’ve been here teasing him back.

A thorn of guilt wormed its way into Tigerstar’s chest, and when another flash of a blue-gray pelt appeared next to Yellowfang, he had to close his eyes for three full seconds to make it vanish.

“Tigerstar?” Goldenflower prompted gently. She had probably been asking him something, but he didn't care.

“Goldenflower, come sleep in the leader’s den with me,” he said, licking her ear again.

Immediately his mate’s expression soured. “You know I don’t like that.”

“Why not?” Tigerstar said. “There’s nothing in the code against it. What harm could it possibly do?”

Goldenflower stared at him for a moment, then lifted her tail, which she had draped over the kits’ backs. “Why don’t you two run along and go play outside?” she said to them sweetly. Bramblekit and Tawnykit nodded enthusiastically, and bumbled along out the nursery entrance. Once the kits had gone, Goldenflower turned back to look Tigerstar in the eyes.

“It’s not about _me_ ,” she said. “It’s not good for kits to be raised outside the nursery. In the leader’s den there would be no one to play with. And they might get big heads about their father’s position - even bigger heads, that is. They already don’t listen when Speckletail gives them orders, and you know what sort of a tongue-lashing she can give out.”

Tigerstar scoffed. “What right does Speckletail have to give _my_ son orders, anyways?” he said.

Goldenflower rolled her eyes. 

“You know I want what’s best for them, love,” Tigerstar insisted. “I…” He hesitated. Would dropping this card work out in his favor? Or would Goldenflower turn away further, insisting that tradition was best?

Deciding to risk it, Tigerstar said, “I want to be there for them like my father never was for me. That means sleeping in the same den, for a start.”

Goldenflower’s gaze softened, and Tigerstar knew his gamble had paid off. “Maybe,” she conceded.

Tigerstar had only just laid his chin on her shoulder again, ready for a quick morning nap, when Bramblekit and Tawnykit came tearing in back through the nursery entrance. Both were half-covered in mud, squealing like mad and quickly scattering the moss of Willowpelt’s new nest everywhere. Yellowfang lifted her forepaws and made a noise of disgust, and Speckletail and her kits woke with a start.

Pale blue eyes flashed with malice, and Tigerstar’s fur stood on end. He thought he caught a flash of a calico coat, too. Why wouldn't they leave him _alone_? And the kits -

“Are you two mouse-brained? Look what you’ve done,” he growled irritably. Immediately Bramblekit and Tawnykit shrank back away from him, eyes wide. Tawnykit glanced back towards Goldenflower.

Immediately she said, “They’re just kits, love. Why don’t you say sorry, you two?”

From behind Goldenflower, Bluestar was giving him a hard look. _You killed me. You killed Redtail. Now you’re frightening your own kittens._

It was all too much. “Why don’t they clean up the mess they’ve made?” Tigerstar snapped. “They’re old enough to learn to be fucking responsible for themselves.” With that, he turned and stalked out of the den, feeling terribly ruffled.

Yellowfang followed him out. “What now?” he snapped, not turning to look at her.

The elderly molly caught up to him quickly and stood in front of him, blocking his path. “Don’t you dare treat kits like that under my watch,” she snarled.

“I’ll do what I please,” Tigerstar said, moving to shove past her.

Yellowfang stepped in front of him again. “That’s what Brokenstar said,” she hissed. Her yellow eyes glittered, as if she had expected him to be appalled by the association, as though he had not spent the moon before his leadership working with Brokentail to plan Bluestar’s assassination. _Who do you think I am, Yellowfang?_ Tigerstar thought bitterly.

“I am a _good leader_ ,” he growled aloud, and this time when he pushed past Yellowfang, she let him.

—

Tigerstar had taken over Dustpelt’s afternoon patrol in hopes that the forest air would clear his head, but the patrol - consisting of Dustpelt, Sandstorm and Mousefur - were quietly discussing something behind him that he couldn’t quite pick up on even as they left the ravine, and it was getting on his nerves. Tigerstar didn’t like hearing whispers.

He led them up through the back part of the territory towards Snakerocks and the outer border, but at long last the quiet discussion combined with the stench of adder got on his nerves, and he snapped, “What are you all muttering about?”

They all went quiet, and Tigerstar turned to face them. Dustpelt looked apologetic - good. But Sandstorm and Mousefur were each looking at him with a mix of apprenhension and defiance.

“Why did you send Dustpelt to the Twolegplace?” Mousefur said finally.

Immediately, Tigerstar looked at Dustpelt. “Did you-” he began.

Sandstorm interrupted. “I figured it out after what you said at the Gathering,” she said, stepping forward. “Is it true?”

“It was a secret mission. We didn’t need to feed the Clan’s paranoia,” Tigerstar growled. He didn’t tear his gaze from Dustpelt, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable. _Good! Crowfood-eating little-_

“Why?” Sandstorm demanded. “Fireheart and Graystripe were exiled. They weren’t released for a hunt. So long as they’re off our territory, why should we care where they go?”

The passion in her voice made Tigerstar pause. He swept his eyes over all three of them. “Are you still loyal to Fireheart?” he hissed.

Sandstorm looked taken aback, her pale green eyes going wide. Beside her, Dustpelt and Mousefur both shot her sympathetic looks, and that act alone made Tigerstar's blood boil. “What? No. I-” Sandstorm started to protest, but Tigerstar interrupted.

“Then why do you care so much for his privacy?” he snarled. “In case you haven’t forgotten, he and Graystripe are traitors to the Clan, and threats to our safety. It’s well within my rights as a leader to keep tabs on them. I don’t see why any _loyal_ cat should disagree.”

“I…” Sandstorm stammered. But Tigerstar wasn’t done.

“Do you think I haven’t noticed how you hover around Cloudpaw? How you step lightly around me? Don’t insult me, Sandstorm. If I were you, I’d stop worrying so much about _Fireheart_ and start worrying about yourself,” he said.

Sandstorm took a full step back. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

With the light ginger warrior properly mollified, Tigerstar turned around once more and started heading towards Snakerocks, not bothering to check if they followed. “Not just traitors, but completely mad,” he added, half to himself. “Do you remember what he said when I gave him the chance to defend himself? Ramblings about Cinderpaw and Oakheart, and he even had the audacity to say Ravenpaw was alive. Can you imagine how terrible a cat must be, to try to use another’s grief against him like that?”

“Hear, hear,” Dustpelt said quietly behind him.

Tigerstar was aware that the brown warrior was trying to support him, but the mere sound of another cat speaking set off his irritation once more. Spinning on his heel to face the patrol once more, he announced. “Dustpelt, you lead the rest of the patrol. I have something urgent to attend to.”

“Um, okay, sir,” Dustpelt stammered quickly, but Tigerstar didn’t even look at him as he stalked away.

It was a lie, of course. He had nothing to attend to. But he couldn't stand to be around those flea-brained traitors anymore. Tigerstar walked in a random direction, stomping through the forest with his claws out, batting any unfortunate clump of moss in his path far, far away.

Who would dare question him? He was ThunderClan’s _leader_. His word was law, and any cat who didn’t follow him was disloyal to the Clan. Why were they all so eager to prove him wrong?

“I am a good leader,” he growled to himself.

After several minutes, Tigerstar found himself in Tallpines - he must have come around the territory the back way, because his path had been unfamiliar, disused. He sighed and looked around.

The first warm winds of spring had brightened the place up considerably, as small, bright purple flowers were now springing up among the pine needles that covered the grounds in thick brown layers. A slight breeze was whistling between the trees, just cool enough to have a bite to it. The sky was quickly beginning to darken into a pink, and further up, a purple that matched the flowers, sparkling with stars.

Tigerstar took a deep breath, slowing his pace. The Tallpines always smelled strongly of needles and sap, but now the spring air brought the scent of nectar, too, and of wet air and coming rain. Damp dirt and fresh, young grass. And the scent of the Twolegs in Treecutplace, wafting through the quickly-falling twilight.

“I am a good leader,” Tigerstar murmured, closing his eyes.

He took another deep breath, savoring the slightly-musty pine.

He opened his eyes. There was something else - just along the edge of everything else. Something familiar.

Hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu, Tigerstar crouched low to the ground and stalked forward through the stark undergrowth, towards Twolegplace. The scent grew more and more until it was undeniable - it was the smell of a ThunderClan cat.

Or perhaps a former one.

Heart quickening, Tigerstar flexed his claws, but resheathed them, careful to keep calm and silent as he kept heading toward the familiar scent. If he was here - if Dustpelt had _missed_ him somehow, or even seen him and decided to conceal him -

What greeted Tigerstar wasn’t quite what he’d expected. 

Cloudpaw, once more, was skipping through the woods near Twolegplace, heading _towards_ the tall, imposing nests and apparently entirely unaware of how much his white pelt stood out in the dark, scarce forest.

Tigerstar ground his claws into the ground. That little _bastard_. He was going to make him regret whatever he was doing in Twolegplace at twilight. He stood, suddenly, and Cloudpaw’s ears pricked as he must have finally realized that he ought to conceal himself.

The apprentice swallowed as Tigerstar stepped forward and grinned. “Heading home, are we?”


	16. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandstorm wakes up to a crowd. Cloudpaw stands before his Clan. Overhead, a storm threatens to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will probably take a short break from posting over this next week or two as I try to get my life back on track, as quarantine veered me off pretty hard. Thanks for all your patience and support.

Sandstorm woke with to find the warriors’ den empty and cold. For a moment she thought her long day the previous day - two patrols and an evening training session with Ashpaw, Fernpaw, Dustpelt, and Whitestorm - had caused her to accidentally sleep in _again_. She braced herself to go outside and find Darkstripe’s impatient sneer waiting for her. But a sideways glance at the weak light peeking in the gaps of the den revealed it was very early, far too early for every patrol to have already left. It was only a little after dawn.

Bewildered, she got up and went outside, only to find herself pushing through a small knot of cats - Speckletail, Willowpelt, Frostfur, and Halftail were standing right outside the warriors’ den, muttering urgently.

“Um, excuse me,” Sandstorm said, pushing quickly past them. The camp was quite crowded - it seemed as though every cat was gathered. The last time this had happened was when Bluestar….

Spotting Dustpelt and Brackenfur sitting near the medicine den, Sandstorm quickly pushed her way towards them. When she had reached them, she demanded, “What’s going on?”

Brackenfur and Dustpelt exchanged a glance. “We’re not sure,” Brackenfur admitted.

“How can you not be sure?” Sandstorm snapped. “You’re in this camp, aren’t you? Haven’t you seen whatever everyone’s all hot and bothered about?”

Dustpelt frowned, and nudged her gently. “Sit down, Sandstorm. Relax.” Once she obeyed, he continued, “We don’t know what’s going on because Tigerstar called a meeting, then disappeared with Darkstripe behind the Highrock. Neither of them have said anything yet.”

“What on Earth….” Sandstorm muttered. She stood again, and stalked forward towards the front of the cluster of cats.

Longtail and Whitestorm were sat in the very front, and Sandstorm squeezed in between them. “What’s happening?” she said, even more irritably now.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. You slept through the call for a meeting,” Longtail said. Amusement glittered in his eyes, but Sandstorm wasn’t feeling up for the playful jabs. She swiped, claws sheathed, at his shoulder. Longtail, apparently taking it as a prompt for a play fight, cuffed her around the ear with a grin.

“Quit it, you two,” Whitestorm said. His voice was slightly hoarse, and Sandstorm looked up at him. His yellow eyes, too, were dark with exhaustion. He hadn’t been himself lately - what was going on?

“Seriously, what’s happening? You’re both close with Tigerstar. Surely you know,” she said.

Whitestorm tipped his head slightly forward without saying anything. Sandstorm followed his gaze to a small, shadowed spot beside the Highrock, under the overhang of a much smaller stone. Crouched there was Cloudpaw, looking as small and frightened as a kit, his eyes wide as they flitted from cat to cat. The sky was dark with clouds, so it was difficult to make him out under the rock.

“Oh, StarClan,” she breathed. “Is he in trouble?”

“When isn’t he in trouble?” Longtail quipped.

Sandstorm ignored him. “Look how scared he is,” she said to Whitestorm urgently. “Is this about him? Do you know why?”

Whitestorm shook his head. “I have no idea. No cat has told me anything.”

Sandstorm blinked with shock. _But you’re practically the deputy!…especially since Darkstripe’s so bad at it_. But Whitestorm just looked at her with an anxious expression.

There was movement behind the Great Rock, and Darkstripe came out to take a place in the front row. Longtail nudged Sandstorm. “Er, you’d better move back.”

Feeling bewildered once more, Sandstorm stared at him. “What?”

“Like, not to the front. I don’t think Tigerstar will want you sitting up here,” Longtail said. His normally lighthearted tone had turned a little urgent. Sandstorm glanced up and down the front row - sitting there were Whitestorm, Longtail, Goldenflower, Swiftstrike, Brightclaw, and now Darkstripe. All the most vocal supporters of Tigerstar.

Realizing Longtail was right, Sandstorm took a few steps backward, but she hissed, “This is ridiculous.” All Longtail did was give her an apologetic glance as she headed back to Dustpelt and Brackenfur.

“Back so soon?” Brackenfur said.

“Shut up,” Sandstorm said instinctively, but when Brackenfur flattened his ears she realized he had been genuinely asking what happened, not jabbing her sarcastically like Dustpelt or Longtail might. She shot him an apologetic look as she settled next to Dustpelt once more. “Cloudpaw’s up there, under the Highrock. He must have done something big to get Tigerstar this pissed.”

Dustpelt frowned. “Poor kit.”

Sandstorm opened her jaws to reply, but was interrupted by a commotion, rippling back from the front of the group. Tigerstar had leapt up onto the Highrock. Now, sitting at the very peak, he surveyed the camp.

She couldn’t help but shudder when his eyes landed on her. She still remembered what he’d said to her last night. It had kept her up late, sleepless. _If I were you, I’d stop worrying so much about Fireheart and start worrying about yourself._

It was a threat, and not a veiled one. But Tigerstar’s gaze moved past her, apparently forgetting her transgressions for now. 

“Cats of ThunderClan,” he began in a deep purr, “I am not honored to have to call this meeting. I am not pleased - no, I can scarcely imagine the words to describe the depths of my disappointment. But call this meeting we must.”

“What is he going on about?” Sandstorm muttered, half to herself. Brackenfur stifled a purr, but Dustpelt gave her a sharp look, which she returned. _What happened to you? We used to whisper like this all the time!_

“The reason you are all here is because, just when we had thought that we had expelled every traitor in this Clan, another cat was hiding right under our noses,” Tigerstar said.

Sandstorm’s blood ran cold.

 _I don’t see why any_ loyal _cat should disagree_ , his voice murmured in her head. Her heart pounded. Beside her, Dustpelt leaned closer, asked if she was alright, but she couldn’t speak, her tongue numb and frozen.

Tigerstar turned to look at her, and she felt like she was frozen in place, paws rooted to the ground.

“Last night, I found Cloudpaw headed to the Twolegplace for the second time,” he growled.

Suddenly, blood rushed into Sandstorm’s ears. For all that she was frightened for poor Cloudpaw, she couldn’t help but feel dizzy with relief. Dustpelt asked again if she was all right, and this time she murmured assent and leaned toward him, not sure if she could keep herself standing. It wasn’t her.

Tigerstar looked away, down towards where the white apprentice was crouched. “What do you have to say for yourself, Cloudpaw?” the leader growled.

Sandstorm couldn’t see Cloudpaw, but presumably he stepped forward. Voice shaking, but raised loud and clear so every cat could understand him, he said, “I am loyal to ThunderClan. It’s no crime to go to the Tallpines.”

 _Good for you, Cloudpaw!_ Sandstorm thought, but she was wise enough not to raise her voice in approval, and no other cat did either. In fact, the clearing was nearly silent except for the low rumble of Tigerstar’s persistent growl.

“But you and I both know that wasn’t all you were doing, was it?” the leader said.

“I - no,” Cloudpaw admitted. “I was going to visit Princess. My mother.”

“Are you thinking of joining her?” Tigerstar said.

“No!” Cloudpaw yelped. “I’m loyal to ThunderClan. I want to stay here.”

Tigerstar stood for a moment, looking down on the young apprentice, and the way his claws flexed, in and out, scraping against the rock, made a terrible noise that cut through the silence. “You’ll have to prove that,” he said finally. “Cloudpaw, are you willing to take a punishment for your transgression?”

“Of course,” Cloudpaw said, but his voice was shaking more this time.

“You will fight Darkstripe, claws unsheathed,” Tigerstar said simply. “If you do this, I will accept that you are loyal to this Clan, and you will have no further punishment.”

The Clan was so silent Sandstorm swore she could have heard a bird calling in WindClan.

“…Wait,” came Brindleface’s voice from the other side of camp. She sounded calm, but with a controlled fury underneath. “Cloudpaw’s just an apprentice. Darkstripe is a fully grown warrior, and more than that, he’s the Clan deputy. Older apprentices have _died_ fighting against less skilled opponents. How can you possibly expect Cloudpaw to win?”

“I don’t,” Tigerstar said, eyes glittering. “But this is the only way I’ll allow him to remain an honorable member of this Clan. If he doesn’t think he can do it, he can leave ThunderClan’s forest. I’m sure his dear mother Princess will be happy to take him.”

Brindleface was right, Sandstorm realized. Cloudpaw would be in real danger if he took on this challenge - and what was worse, Tigerstar didn’t seem to care. She wouldn't blame him at all if he chose to flee.

Cloudpaw spoke up again. “I’ll do it.”

“Don’t,” Sandstorm murmured, but her plea was lost in the wind, which was slowly beginning to pick up.

Without needing an order to do so, the Clan began to back out of the center of the camp, clearing room for Cloudpaw and Darkstripe’s fight like they had once for Firepaw and Longtail’s. They lined against the bramble walls, eyes wide as Cloudpaw and Darkstripe padded up to one another, both of them bristling with hostility. _A mentor and apprentice should never look like that!_ Sandstorm thought, shocked. The pair of them both looked up at Tigerstar, apparently waiting for his order, and she followed their gaze. He was lounging on the Highrock now, allowing one forelimb to dangle over the edge. _He’s enjoying this!_

“Go on, then,” Tigerstar said, and the two cats leapt, a blur of white and black fur.

They rolled quickly across the camp and landed with Darkstripe’s paws on Cloudpaw’s shoulders, but Cloudpaw reached his hindpaws to swipe at his mentor’s belly and the older cat leapt out of the way, freeing Cloudpaw, who scrambled backward. Darkstripe hissed and swiped at Cloudpaw’s throat, but the apprentice ducked and barreled into Darkstripe’s legs, knocking him over and throwing him back several steps.

 _Stop!_ Sandstorm wanted to scream, but to jump out and stop a fight, alone, that Tigerstar had ordered, would be suicide in several ways. And though every cat around her had rounded eyes and bristling fur, none of them looked like they were about to leap out of line first. _We’re all too scared to be the first to say this is wrong,_ Sandstorm realized.

Darkstripe stood again and lunged at Cloudpaw, but the apprentice reared up on his hind legs and fell onto Darkstripe, letting his full weight down. Sandstorm’s heart skipped a beat. _I taught him to do that._

Now with the advantage, Cloudpaw began to tear viciously at Darkstripe’s haunches, and the dark tabby screeched. Cloudpaw didn’t stop - in fact, his eyes glittered with malice, and his fur stood on end. His claws were extended to their limit. Sandstorm felt sick.

She glanced up at Tigerstar, whose eyes had suddenly gone as round as the rest of the Clans’. _I don’t think Cloudpaw was supposed to win!_

Another moment passed by, and then another, stretching into seconds, minutes, as Cloudpaw continued to batter Darkstripe while the deputy was trapped, howling with desperate pain. Sandstorm felt frozen to the ground, and no cat moved. The whole Clan just stood, watching.

Finally, after Darkstripe’s screams had echoed through the forest for so long that Sandstorm was sure she would hear them forever, Tigerstar spoke. “Stop now, Cloudpaw.”

Without hesitation, the white apprentice leapt off of Darkstripe, and stood tall, facing Tigerstar with devotion. He looked as though he were facing StarClan themselves. Even though the terrible fight was over, Sandstorm couldn’t help but still feel uneasy.

“You have proven yourself well, Cloudpaw,” Tigerstar said, and he looked genuinely impressed. “Not just any cat could defeat my deputy. You will stay as a part of this Clan, so long as you vow never to visit Twolegplace again.”

Cloudpaw lifted his chin, and now when he spoke, his voice didn’t waver at all. “I will never go there again, sir. I vow it on my life. I’m not like my traitorous uncle or my weak blood mother. I will never betray this Clan.”

The words echoed through Sandstorm’s ears, and she thought she caught Cloudpaw looking at her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her reaction, but all she could do was sit slackjawed. Where was the cat who had complained so bitterly about his uncle’s exile and his mentor’s incompetence? Who was Cloudpaw now?

Next to him, Darkstripe stood weakly. Out of the corner of her eye, Sandstorm spotted Cinderpaw stand, and Yellowfang put out one paw to stop her from rushing forward. Once more, Sandstorm felt sick to her stomach. Would no one help the deputy with his injuries? She didn’t like Darkstripe much more than the next cat, but his fur and flesh was torn apart on his haunches. It was terrible to look at.

“From this moment on, Cloudpaw,” Tigerstar said, “You will be _my_ apprentice, not Darkstripe’s. You’ve proven yourself more than worthy of that. For now, have first choice of the fresh-kill pile. The rest of the day is yours to do with what you wish.”

Cloudpaw nodded, glowing, and stepped away from Darkstripe, joining Ashpaw and Fernpaw in the circle of cats, though Sandstorm noticed them leaning away from him. Tigerstar leapt down from the Highrock and approached Darkstripe.

“As for you, why don’t you start assigning patrols?” Tigerstar said.

Suddenly, the tension in the air broke, and the warriors gathered around Darkstripe and Tigerstar, while the elders and queens returned to their dens. Sandstorm didn’t move, and neither did Brackenfur, though Dustpelt got up from between them and disappeared into the knot of warriors waiting for patrol assignments.

“That was… odd,” Brackenfur muttered.

Sandstorm opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated. She didn’t want to say anything Tigerstar might perceive as traitorous. “I… yes,” she said. “A bit.” Then she cringed - maybe even that was too much. Sandstorm wasn’t one to hold her tongue, and doing so almost pained her - but all she could think of was what her bizarre, cruel punishment would be if she tried to say something critical of the leader. She was a much better fighter than Cloudpaw. Would she have to duel Tigerstar himself? Or would he come up with something even stranger and more dangerous?

“We’d better get patrol assignments,” she said eventually, feeling as though her mouth were completely dry. She stood and pushed her way into the circle of cats without waiting to see if Brackenfur followed.

Making her way to the front, Sandstorm got a good look at Darkstripe’s haunches, and instantly regretted it. Even standing at his front, she could see that his entire back half was matted with wet blood. To his credit, however, he looked at her and still managed a disdainful expression.

“Could I hunt alone this morning? I’ll do an afternoon and evening patrol, just… please,” she said quickly.

Darkstripe sneered, then swayed slightly on his paws. “Not on your life,” he said.

Sandstorm was about to argue back, but Tigerstar lifted his tail, still standing next to the deputy. He murmured something into Darkstripe’s ear. Then he raised his voice and said, “Of course, Sandstorm. Enjoy yourself. You’ll be on the sunset border patrol as well.”

She paused, waiting for the rest. When nothing came, she said, “And?”

“And?” Tigerstar eyed her. “Most warriors only do two patrols a day, maybe three in a smaller Clan. I appreciate your dedication, my dear, but there's no need to wear yourself out.”

Sandstorm had no idea what had inspired his change in heart, nor did she care enough to find out. She needed to be alone and out of this crowd _now_ , before the sight of Darkstripe’s blood and the echo of his screams in her ears made her vomit. She dipped her head quickly, then backed out of the circle and raced away through the gorse tunnel.

She had made it all the way up the ravine and halfway to Fourtrees before she slowed down even a little, and even then Sandstorm crossed the stream before allowing herself to stop. For a moment she tried to taste the air for prey - until realizing her mad dash across the forest had probably scared everything away. Suddenly exhausted, heart pounding, she found a bush and sheltered under it, beginning to groom in an attempt to calm herself. It wasn’t until she lifted a paw to her face to bathe there that she realized she had been crying calm, silent tears for StarClan knew how long.

What was ThunderClan becoming?

“You still have time to save it, my dear,” a familiar voice said beckoningly.

Sandstorm crept out from under the bush, and sure enough, Redtail sat there, the forest visible through his pelt.

“Papa…” she croaked.

Sandstorm tried to find the words to voice her disgust, her horror, her terror, but none came. Finally she leaned forward, trying to press her head against her father’s soft chest fur - but there was nothing there.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Redtail murmured. “You can only touch me in dreams. And I am afraid this is not one, however much you and I may wish it to be.”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” Sandstorm said, sitting up again. She choked back a sob. “I don’t even know what’s wrong. Tigerstar is our rightful leader - isn’t he? He’s nothing like he used to be.”

“I wish I could tell you everything,” Redtail said, his eyes shining with sorrow. “I truly do. But you know well that spirits cannot interfere.”

“Then why did you come here?” Sandstorm spat.

“To encourage you,” Redtail said simply. “I told you when I first appeared to you that you were ThunderClan's last hope. I did truly mean last. It will be difficult, and the road will be long and dangerous, but I believe well in your ability to travel it.”

“But what do I do? _Really_ do? Don’t give me metaphors,” Sandstorm begged.

“I told you already,” Redtail said. He looked her over, then lifted his chin to gaze at the sky. “Storm’s coming. Terribly hard to patrol in a storm, don’t you think?”

He was right. The smell of rain was growing stronger and stronger. The air was wet, and the wind was picking up more quickly now, bringing a chill to her fur. She knew what he was talking about, but it wasn’t a solution, and it didn’t even seem related to her problems right now.

“ _Papa_ ,” Sandstorm said. “Please. Just… tell me.”

Redtail sighed. “There’s no answer as easy as the one you wish existed, Sandstorm. You know what you have to do.” And she blinked, and her father was gone.

A raindrop landed on her haunches, then another. Sandstorm turned and stared at the two parted spots on her skin as though she'd never seen rain before. Everything seemed so foreign now. The world had changed.

  
This morning, she would have defended Tigerstar from criticism. She would have brushed off her father’s comments, and the storm would be an annoyance, and nothing more. But now Sandstorm knew how deeply the wrongness she sensed in her Clan ran. She knew how many cats it could hurt. And loyalty to ThunderClan demanded that she do everything in her power to stop it.

She glanced up at the sky as more and more rain began to fall, blinking away the drops that fell into her eyes. Redtail was right. The storm would keep patrols, both from her Clan and the others, in camp, or force them to cut their missions short. And the rain would wash away any trace of her scent. It was a perfect opportunity.

Sandstorm looked toward the direction of the Thunderpath, steeling herself. It was time to find Ravenpaw’s body.


	17. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ShadowClan holds a vigil. Fleetwhisker tells Fireheart the story of his name. Fireheart and Graystripe visit Princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I know I vanished a bit longer than I thought I would, but on the bright side, after this week I have basically nothing to do but write all day, so updates will probably start coming more quickly! It's good to be back.

In the predawn light, Fireheart reflected, the ShadowClan camp looked like home. Not any particular home - certainly not the one he’d left behind - but a home regardless.

The light purples and blues of early morning barely illuminated the camp, and the trees surrounding it were still black against the lightening sky. Birdcall was just starting for the morning, drowned out by the far louder and more enthusiastic toads. Overhead, an owl was circling, but as Fireheart watched, it dove somewhere deep into the forest in search of its prey.

He was sitting in a small, tight line near the camp wall, consisting of all the cats who weren’t sick - Russetfur, Tallpoppy, Bouldernose, Flintfang, Littlecloud, Oakpaw and Ratpaw, and the kits. Graystripe was pressed against him as well, holding him steady. They had been ordered to stay there and not move, no matter how much they would want to.

The exception to this rule was, of course, Fleetwhisker and the elders, who were working with the body in the middle of the camp, covering it in lavender to mask the smell of sickness, arranging it so it looked less like a corpse and more as though the cat could be asleep. This, here was the reason why the healthy members of the Clan had to hold their vigil far away, around the edges of the camp. Though the spirit had moved on, the sickness still lived in the body of Cinderfur.

Fleetwhisker stepped back, and moved quickly off to one side of the camp and weaved through the bushes. Fireheart murmured, “Where is he going?”

Russetfur gave him a strange look. “To the other side of camp.”

As Fleetwhisker returned, Fireheart realized where the sick cats had been staying.

There were a parade of them, their numbers about equal to the number of healthy cats, and for a moment Fireheart felt a little ill. How devastated a Clan could be, and how quickly. In line with him, nearly every ShadowClan cat tensed at the sight of their sick Clanmates, assessing the health and strength of mothers, kits, apprentices, mentors, brothers and sisters. Nightstar stood at the lead, managing a proud and dignified stance, but his frail body was wracked by coughs every couple of minutes. Fleetwhisker spoke quietly to them, and they began to file by Cinderfur’s body, saying their goodbyes.

Fleetwhisker then came up to the healthy cats, pressed against the camp wall. “You may speak to them,” he instructed, “But stay at least a fox-length away. And remember that they must go back to resting very soon.”

One by one, healthy cats peeled off the wall to meet their kin, until only Graystripe and Fireheart were left sitting at the edge of the camp.

To look upon them Fireheart thought his heart might break. Flintfang and Ratpaw were sharing words quickly with a dilute tortoiseshell molly, their eyes shining with distress. Bouldernose was speaking with a very small white tom - and almost stepped closer, until Russetfur gave him a warning nip. The kits bounced excitedly up to a black molly who must have been their mother - until Tallpoppy snatched them back to her, giving the black molly an apologetic look. 

With ThunderClan, Fireheart had survived wars and battles, an unforgiving winter and a late spring, but never something so terrible as this. This was devastation on a scale he had hardly thought of before. Even the worst battle had only a few casualties, nothing like this.

As he watched the reunions, he spotted Fleetwhisker off to one side, alone, watching as well. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured to Graystripe, and limped over.

He settled next to Fleetwhisker, unsure of what to say. They were silent for a long moment, until Fireheart followed Fleetwhisker’s gaze, which was resting on a brown tom with lighter spots on the haunches. “Is that-” Fireheart began to ask

“My sister,” Fleetwhisker said. “One of them, that is. The other was one of Brokenstar’s supporters, and followed him into exile. StarClan knows where she is now.”

“I’m sorry,” Fireheart said. He meant that he was sorry for the medicine cat’s loss, but also for his role in the ShadowClan battle. For driving out Brokenstar’s supporters, who he realized now were more than just the evil cat’s goons - they were the real kin of real cats who still lived here and felt their absence.

Fleetwhisker must have noted the hint of real regret in Fireheart’s voice, because he finally looked at him. “Don’t be,” he said. “It’s not your fault she chose to follow him.”

“I wasn’t saying it was,” Fireheart huffed. “Let me express sympathy for your loss. I know how much Brokenstar hurt you and your Clan.”

Fleetwhisker twitched an ear, his eyes glimmering. For a long moment, he was silent, his eyes tracking his sister, who was now heading back to rest on the ill side of camp. Once she had disappeared into the bushes, he said, “Do you know why I don’t get sick when every other cat does?”

Something about the way he said it made Fireheart pause. It felt like forbidden ground, like he was sneaking into the Moonstone during the day or leaping onto the Great Rock at a Gathering. Cautiously he said, “No, why?”

“I was still apprenticed to Yellowfang when Brokenstar became leader,” Fleetwhisker rasped, reaching up to rub his nose against his paw. There was a bare patch in his fur just there on his muzzle. “He didn’t like her, and every cat knew it, so even when I was only seven or eight moons old he treated me like his only medicine cat.”

“Eventually he decided my training wasn’t going fast enough, and I guess he thought a good medicine cat should be immune to disease… or maybe he wasn’t thinking about it much at all. He was just bored, and cruel.” Fleetwhisker spat. “He asked me to come to his den for a meeting, and he and his cronies had this diseased rat from Carrionplace. They… forced me to eat it.”

Fireheart felt sick, but he said nothing, unwilling to interrupt.

“Yellowfang was furious, obviously, but she held it together for me. I recovered quickly, but since then, I’ve gotten sick more easily than other cats. Just little colds and things. Brokenstar thought it was so funny, he started calling me Runningnose. He even introduced me as that at a Gathering.

“That next few moons, Yellowfang taught me everything as quickly as she could, as though she could sense she wouldn’t last very long there. Then the incident with the kits happened, and… well. Suddenly I was Brokenstar’s only medicine cat. And he wouldn’t even call me by my name.

Anyhow, it worked. I can’t get the Carrionplace sickness now.”

Fleetwhisker took a deep, shuddering breath, and rubbed his nose again, seemingly more as a nervous tic than to actually staunch any mucus. Fireheart stepped forward.

“I… you didn’t have to tell me,” Fireheart murmured.

Fleetwhisker looked up and fixed him in the eyes. “You may not be part of this Clan forever, but you are part of it now, and to be part of it, you must know its history,” he said quietly.

For a moment, Fireheart just looked at him. Fleetwhisker’s yellow gaze was deep with emotion - sorrow and grief, yes, but also rage at what had been done to him, and exhaustion at all he had gone through.

Once more, Fireheart felt as though he had been looking at Brokenstar’s reign through a distorted reflection in the water all this time, and only now had he looked up to see the actual horror of the thing. In ThunderClan, it had seemed a problem so very far away; one that morals and honor obligated them to help solve, but something small and fixable nonetheless. But the tyrant had hurt real cats. It was a wonder that ShadowClan had survived him.

“I… I can’t promise how long I’ll stay,” Fireheart said. “But as long as I am here, I will not let ShadowClan fall again. Not if I can help it.”

 _I can’t save one Clan, but maybe I can protect another_ , he thought to himself.

Fleetwhisker didn’t break his gaze, not even to blink. “Fireheart, did you kill Bluestar?”

Fireheart’s stomach leapt into his throat, his heartbeat thudding so hard it felt like thunder. “I- Tigerstar did tell you,” he said, stepping back. He blinked once, twice, trying not to sway from the force of the revelation. They had known all along. “Why did you let us stay?”

It was meant as a question, but came out more as a rough bark. Fleetwhisker frowned and brushed his tail against Fireheart’s shoulder.

“Did you?” the medicine cat repeated.

“No,” Fireheart said instantly. “I would _never_. I would have given my life for hers. I still would if it meant she could come back.” His own voice sounded distorted and choked in his ears. It was still hard to believe she was gone at all.

“I believe you,” Fleetwhisker said.

The words sank into Fireheart like a soothing balm from the medicine den. For a moment, he could scarcely believe he was hearing them. “You… do?”

“You will have to stand trial before the Clan,” Fleetwhisker said. “But it will be honest and fair. ”

For a moment after the word ‘trial,’ all Fireheart could think of was his desperate attempts to defend himself in front of ThunderClan. But he had been losing blood, and unable to keep his thoughts straight, and he had looked half-crazed as he accused Tigerstar of crime after crime. Horribly, he wondered if that would just happen again. Was he getting his hopes up too soon?

But Fleetwhisker must have noticed his sudden fear, because the medicine cat covered Fireheart’s paw with his own and looked at him intensely. “If you’re telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about. And for what it’s worth, Fireheart, yes, I believe you. You are too honorable a cat to be believably accused of killing your leader.”

“I…” Fireheart could almost do nothing but stare. After a long moment he touched his nose to Fleetwhisker’s ear. “Thank you. So much.”

Fleetwhisker dipped his head, but despite the formality of the gesture, his eyes shone with familiarity. “I have things to attend to. The sick cats are probably making themselves restless. It’s been a long time since they’ve seen their healthy Clanmates.”

“Wait,” Fireheart said, putting a paw on the ground between them. He hesitated. “I know what you said about pushing myself, but… I promised my sister I’d see her in a half-moon from when Graystripe and I left her. It’s been nearly that time by now. And I’d like her to know I’m safe here.”

It was the sort of thing the medicine cat would normally reject out of paw, but now Fleetwhisker’s nose crinkled and eyes slitted in a funny half-smile. “…Take Graystripe with you, and spend the night there if your leg gets sore on the way,” he said.

“Thank you,” Fireheart said again. “For everything.”

Fleetwhisker nodded and turned away.

Fireheart glanced around the camp, where no sick cats remained. The healthy had congregated in a few small, huddled groups. But despite the atmosphere, Fireheart couldn’t help but feel hopeful for himself once more. He looked around, and he knew every cats’ names. He wouldn’t feel out of place speaking to almost any of them. And he knew that he could defend his innocence, and they would believe him fully. It almost felt like being a part of a real Clan again.

—

“Are you sure you’re all right to walk this far?” Graystripe said fretfully. 

“I’m just fine,” Fireheart reassured him quickly. “It’s not so long now anyways.”

In reality, the walk across the swamp, which was punctuated by a lot of difficult terrain, had tired Fireheart out considerably, and his bad leg was quickly growing sore, and his limp more pronounced. They would almost certainly have to spend the night with Princess. But he didn’t want to tell Graystripe that just yet, or his friend would make them both turn around and head home.

They were now into the short stretch of scrubland between the Twolegplace and ShadowClan territory, anyways. Once they reached the fence, they’d have a short walk to the aspen tree and Princess’s garden.

Fireheart stumbled slightly over a rock, and landed with his weight on his bad leg. Hissing in pain, he quickly stood again, trying to move on before Graystripe noticed.

But the gray tom was looking at him suspiciously. “You’re _sure_?”

“Certain,” he said. “Oh, look, there's the aspen. We’re almost there.” With that, Fireheart ran ahead. He was well aware that Graystripe could catch up easily, but he didn’t hear his friend approaching, so for a moment, as he sat under the aspen, he was alone.

They were close to ThunderClan territory, now. He could smell fresh border markers - that was unusual, as they rarely visited the outer border. Fireheart wondered, if he went closer, if he could pick out the smells of individual cats - Sandstorm or Cloudpaw, or even Tigerstar. But that was just wishful thinking. He was much too far away to identify any cat, and it would be stupid to go closer.

“Fireheart?” came a familiar voice, sounding delighted.

Fireheart glanced up the fence to find his sister sitting there, looking at him. “Princess!” he said.

She broke into a wide smile. “Come around this way,” she said, gesturing. “My Twoleg boarded up the old hole, but there’s a spot where you can squeeze under. Especially with how thin you are.”

“Save the teasing a moment until I can get you back,” Fireheart retorted. He glanced back over the scrub to see Graystripe quickly approaching, and indicated to his friend where they could come through the fence before squeezing through himself.

As soon as Fireheart had stepped into the garden, Princess ambushed him, leaping at him and purring hard. She licked his ears as she bombarded him with questions. “Are you all right? How’s ShadowClan? Your scars look terrible, are they hurting you? Are you eating well? You look so skinny.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Fireheart said. A moment later, Graystripe squeezed into the garden after him.

“It’s good to see you, Princess,” Graystripe said.

“And you,” Princess said, her eyes shining. “And your ribs, it seems. They’re feeding you in ShadowClan, aren’t they?”

“More like we’re feeding them,” Graystripe said awkwardly. “There’s illness in the camp, and we’re some of the only healthy cats.”

As Graystripe spoke, Fireheart leaned into his sister, nuzzling her neck. Her scent was reassuring, calming him in a way he hadn’t really felt in a long time. Since Bluestar’s death, he had always been on edge. But today, the lifting of the weight of his secret off his shoulders, and the opportunity to see his family had slowed his thoughts. Without saying a word, Princess purred at him affectionately.

“That’s terrible, and I’m sorry to hear it,” Princess said to Graystripe. “Would either of you want something to eat? It’s no trouble for me to get food from my housefolk.”

“No thanks. Warriors don’t eat that crap,” Graystripe said proudly.

“I thought you might say that. Suit yourself,” Princess teased.

Suddenly, his sister sighed, and Fireheart sat back up, concerned. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” Princess said, half-smiling. “I’m just a bit… nervous. Cloudpaw’s still in ThunderClan, isn’t he?”

Fireheart exchanged a glance with Graystripe, who looked as puzzled as he felt. “Yes, as far as we know. Why?”

Princess glanced away, suddenly shy. She crossed her small white paws over one another, leaning back on her haunches. “It’s just that… I haven’t seen him almost since you two went to ShadowClan. He promised to come see me three days ago, but he never came at all. I wanted to go out into the forest looking for him, but I thought it wasn’t smart to cross over ThunderClan’s border with the scent marks so strong.”

Fireheart frowned. That was… odd. Normally the white apprentice relished his visits to his mother, so much so that he had taken to visiting her alone, without Fireheart, several moons ago. He had imagined that with the difficulty of a changed Clan leader, Cloudpaw might go to see her more often. 

“Maybe Tigerstar caught him coming to see you,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Princess’s eyes went wide. “That wouldn't be very good, would it?”

“He’d probably get in quite a lot of trouble, yes,” Fireheart said. But despite Princess’s apparent fear, he wondered if Cloudpaw would really be in any danger from Tigerstar. Surely the brown tabby must have known that Cloudpaw was simply no threat to him.

“You two will watch out for him, won’t you?” Princess said. “I know you can’t go looking for him, but just try to see if you see him and tell me how he’s doing.”

“Of course,” Graystripe promised. He leaned forward and gently led Princess’s nervous forepaws back to the ground, then gently pressed his own over hers in a reassuring gesture.

Princess shook her head as Graystripe stepped back again. “How are things going in ShadowClan? Are you making yourselves at home there?”

Fireheart and Graystripe exchanged another glance. Fireheart had told Graystripe of his conversation with Fleetwhisker on the journey over, and they had both agreed that this was the best way forward that they had available.

“Actually… Tigerstar has told them what happened,” Fireheart said.

Princess frowned. “Does that mean you need to stay here again? Why wouldn’t you tell me that to start?”

“No, no,” Fireheart said quickly. “But they want to hold a trial. I’m sure I can convince them all of what really happened, but… would you come to help?”

Princess went quiet for a moment. “…Why me?”

“The least believable part of the story is that Cinderpaw’s injury was a result of Tigerstar’s trap. But you can tell them how you thought of that, and that I didn’t want to believe it at first,” Fireheart urged. “And you can speak to other things too - that Graystripe and I didn’t mean to go to ShadowClan at all at first, for example, so we couldn’t have had ill intent toward them.”

“You’re also the only cat we can really ask to be a witness who won’t claw our ears off just for speaking to them,” Graystripe added helpfully.

Princess’s brow furrowed, and she looked back and forth between him and Graystripe. “Of course I’m willing to help you - you know that. But I’m your sister, and it's plain to any cat looking that Graystripe is your best friend. Is our word really going to be good enough?”

Fireheart felt grim. He settled back and set his shoulders determinedly. He finally felt as though he could move on from the loss of his old home, and the unerring love and loyalty of Princess and Graystripe had given him new strength. But now, if he wanted to stay on the new path he’d forged, he would have to fight for it - and he wasn’t sure if this was a fight he could win.

He looked at Princess, her pale amber eyes skeptical. “I don’t know if it is,” he admitted. “But it’s going to have to be.”


	18. Tigerstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brightclaw gets a promotion of sorts. Tigerstar remembers his allies.

_She’s coming. She’s coming. She's so close now, you can taste her in the air. Her mind is sharper than a fox. Do you hear her stepping low, approaching your hiding place?_

Tigerstar tenses, digging his claws into the leaf litter. He has been silent, he has been still. He has been the perfect warrior. Still she is coming.

He can smell her on the wind. Something salty and fresh, almost like the smell of the river. Something smoky and burnt, like embers from a once-raging fire. Something dark and cold like the night.

Beryl-tinted eyes glint in the forest and he isn’t sure whose they are. There's too many for one cat. How many hidden enemies does he have?

How many cats are still loyal to Bluestar?

—

“Sir?”

In the predawn, Darkstripe’s voice, even whispered, rung clear through the lichen screen and echoed off the rock walls of the den. Opening one eye, he watched the deputy shift from foot to foot, nervous, just outside.

Bluestar had been stalking him in his dreams once more. Wasn’t StarClan supposed to be on a leader’s side?

Tigerstar sat up, stretched, and gave Goldenflower’s ears a few swift licks as he collected his thoughts. There was no need to let Darkstripe know of his nightmares. No need at all. If any cat was to have nightmares, it should have been Darkstripe himself - his incompetence was starting to tread on Tigerstar’s nerves with harsher steps than before, until a mild, occasional annoyance had simmered itself up into a quiet resentment.

But there was no suitable replacement yet. No cat who had proven themselves. The issue would have to wait.

Tigerstar stood, nosing the lichen screen aside as he exited the den. Darkstripe stood immediately.

“I-I was wondering, because you said yesterday about not having Brindleface lead patrols, but then you said the queens should be assigned to help Yellowfang and Cinderpaw, and - I’m not sure how to assign everyone, to do as you’ve asked,” Darkstripe said quickly.

Tigerstar’s frustration flared. _What kind of deputy can’t even assign patrols on his own?_ He sighed, loudly, but it devolved into more of a low growl. Darkstripe’s ears flattened.

Yellow eyes wide, he added, “I just want to follow orders. Sir.”

 _I bet you do_ , Tigerstar thought disdainfully. It was all Darkstripe was good for. “Do you remember the cats we talked about? The… what did we call it… brain trust?” he said in the gentlest voice he could manage.

Darkstripe nodded enthusiastically. “Whitestorm, Goldenflower, Longtail, Dustpelt, and me,” he recited.

“Except for Goldenflower, they’re your patrol leaders now. Let them decide which warriors they take. Does that make it easy on you?” Tigerstar said.

Darkstripe faltered. “Nobody but them?”

Tigerstar held back another sigh. He could smell prey on the wind, and the morning was quickly brightening to a pleasant temperature - a perfect early summer day for hunting. He longed to be in the forest rather than micromanaging the camp.

“Nobody but them,” Tigerstar said. “Now, there’s no need to make some big announcement about it. That would only send some of the younger warriors into a tizzy trying to prove themselves. But this will make it easier on everyone, don’t you think? The most experienced cats will do the hardest jobs, and you can focus on your other duties.”

Darkstripe stood for a moment almost as though he was about to protest, but then acquiesced. “As you wish,” he said, and then disappeared around the other side of the Highrock.

Tigerstar slipped back into his den, where Tawnykit was beginning to stir. As he sat and started grooming himself for the day, Tawnykit focused on him, blinking several times.

“Was that Darkstripe?” she asked.

“It was indeed. Good eye. Why do you think he was here?” Tigerstar said. He enjoyed challenging the kits, talking to them as though they were warriors to help them learn to think like warriors. Even now, Tawnykit’s eyes narrowed with focus.

“To ask you for help? You’re the leader, so everyone wants your help,” Tawnykit said.

“Exactly right, Tawnykit,” Tigerstar praised. 

He kept one eye on the kit as he groomed. Her fur was still so fluffy, and her eyes hadn’t yet started their transition from blue to their adult color. She was so… small. A surge of pride and love suddenly overtook Tigerstar, so strong he felt tempted to abandon his bath, walk over and curl himself around her. Of all his accomplishments, Tawnykit and Bramblekit were certainly the most noteworthy.

Her eyes were still narrow with analysis. “Papa?” she said. He blinked acknowledgment. “You should make me deputy. I’d be better.”

“Anyone would, my dear,” Tigerstar snorted.

He returned to the nest now, pulling Tawnykit close and nuzzling her, gently, still half-afraid he might break her even though Goldenflower had laughed at him the first time he’d voiced the fear. She squirmed away from him after a moment, but Tigerstar stayed where he was, letting his forehead press against the cool moss.

He hadn’t been joking, telling Tawnykit that any cat would be a better deputy. Darkstripe was so incompetent. The result was that Tigerstar was doing the job of a leader and a deputy combined.

Why was Darkstripe so incompetent? He had trained him himself, walked his paws through his first hunting crouch and taught him his first battle swipe. Where had Tigerstar gone wrong? Was he in some way a bad mentor, for having clearly failed Darkstripe so horribly? But Darkstripe had earned his warrior name, early even. It was not a flaw of Tigerstar’s creation.

A thought hit him cold and Tigerstar opened his eyes, staring into the dark moss with sudden alarm. Perhaps the incompetence wasn’t something Darkstripe had been taught after all.

Perhaps his dreams were no nightmares, but warnings. How many cats were still loyal to Bluestar? Could Darkstripe be one of them? Could the deputy be feigning incompetence to secretly frustrate Tigerstar’s leadership?

Fur suddenly standing on end, Tigerstar stood and paced out into the clearing. The camp was quickly waking up with activity. The dawn patrol had returned and another was getting ready to leave. All Tigerstar could see in their eyes was betrayal.

Did they hate him? Was Darkstripe working with them to overthrow Tigerstar’s rule? Was he planning on killing his leader - just like Tigerstar had mere weeks before?

Was there any cat he could trust?

Across the clearing, Brightclaw and Swiftstrike were sharing loud and lively banter as they cleared the area around the nursery of some long, spiky branches that had been knocked down by the storm a few days prior. 

Tigerstar’s fur flattened. Brightclaw he could trust. He had had a paw in her training every step of the way. She had always done what he had asked, quickly, without question and without mistakes.

He couldn’t make her deputy until Darkstripe retired, but he could do the next best thing.

Leaping quickly up onto the Highrock, Tigerstar yowled to call the Clan together. The crowd that gathered was sparse - half the Clan was out on patrol. It was no matter. Brightclaw sat at the front, proudly, almost as though she knew what was coming.

“Cats of ThunderClan,” Tigerstar said. “Our Clan’s growth has made it difficult for just two cats to run ThunderClan the way it needs to be run. Thus, from this point forward, Brightclaw will work at my side. She will be my guard and my assistant,” and silently he added, _and a better enforcer of the law than Darkstripe._

“This way I will be able to focus all my energy on leading. I only ask that from this point forward, if you wish to speak to me, to speak to Brightclaw first,” Tigerstar continued. “And remember if you see any cat breaking the warrior code or acting in a disloyal way to ThunderClan, it’s important to report that to Brightclaw as well.” 

Brightclaw’s eyes shone with pride as she stepped forward to stand before her Clan, and he leapt down to greet her.

“Thank you. This is an honor,” she whispered.

“You are the best warrior in this Clan,” Tigerstar replied. “You are better than all these other cats combined.”

Brightclaw dipped her head modestly, but Tigerstar looked at her intensely. A warm breeze flew through the clearing, forcing him to blink away grains of sand.

“Brightclaw, you are loyal to me, are you not?” Tigerstar asked intensely. For a moment he almost doubted himself and his decision. Was she just another Darkstripe?

But the young warrior looked back up to him with a starstruck expression. “Completely,” she said, and he believed her.

—

Later that afternoon, Tigerstar stalked through the bushes at the outer edge of ThunderClan’s territory. The forest was lush, finally waking up to summer’s warmth after the huge storm had finally rehydrated every plant from the late winter. The grass was soft and springy under his pads, and bright ferns and mossy trunks surrounded him as he headed away from the upper forest and into the wetlands.

Not too far from the border, he caught the scent of peat and moss and rolled his eyes. The fools were growing complacent. Though the peat would be a perfect way to disguise one’s scent in their home, it was always suspicious on this side of the road, where peat didn’t occur naturally. 

_In fairness,_ a voice in the back of his head whispered, _you left them here a moon. Of course they’ve grown complacent._

He shook the thought away. It was not his fault that no ShadowClan cat had ever been taught a modicum of the stealth they claimed to be so proud of. 

The earth squelching beneath his pads, Tigerstar continued on into the small wetland. When the ferns rustled ahead, he froze in place, ears pricked.

A toad hopped out from the bushes several fox-lengths ahead, going by at breakneck speed for its size. A moment later two small brown cats - Tangleburr and Stumpytail - burst out after it, side by side.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop hunting those foul things?” Tigerstar called out.

Tangleburr stopped first, quickly grabbing Stumpytail’s scruff to stop him from keeping after the toad. He struggled for a moment, hissing wordless protest at her, before he, too, spotted Tigerstar and stood up straight. 

“Tigerclaw!” he cried out joyfully. “You’re back!”

“You’re back,” Tangleburr added, sounding distinctly more suspicious. Tigerstar almost considered confronting her, but he couldn’t truly think of a way to blame her for being upset that he’d left them here a moon.

Instead, he smiled wide and friendly. “I’m Tigerstar now, and yes, I’m back,” he said.

“You’d better come speak to Blackfoot,” Tangleburr said. She nodded to Stumpytail. “Keep hunting. I’ll take him.”

Tigerstar bounded forward to walk by her side as she led him back to the rogues’ makeshift camp. “How has the prey been running here?” he asked politely.

Tangleburr side-eyed him. “It's always easy to feed five cats in empty territory,” she said.

“Five?” Tigerstar frowned. “Did some cat die?”

“Mowgli ran off after the battle. Some apprentice nearly killed him, it probably scared him half to death. We tracked him back to the Twolegplace, so he must be back hiding there again.”

Panic flared in Tigerstar’s chest. Despite Dustpelt’s detailed reports of Twolegplace, he still could not shake the suspicion that Fireheart was lurking there, waiting for Tigerstar to misstep. If the ginger warrior heard Mowgli’s story, he would have all the evidence he needed to return with a vengeance.

“You had better go and get him,” Tigerstar snapped.

Tangleburr gave him an odd look, obviously wondering why he was so desperate to have a rather poor hunter and fighter on his side, but after a moment she dipped her head and said, “Yes, Tigerstar.”

They entered the camp - it was a small clearing on relatively dry ground, with only two dens. The larger was in a scraggly leatherwood bush, and the other a clump of ferns. A small fresh-kill pile laid between their entrances. Blackfoot came out of the ferns to greet them.

“Thank you, Tangleburr. Is Stumpytail alright?” Blackfoot said.

“Just fine. I’ll be going back to hunting now,” Tangleburr said, dipping her head, but before she could turn away Blackfoot cleared his throat.

“Actually, Tigerstar and I will be walking and talking, so why don’t you stay here and guard the camp?”

Tangleburr’s lip curled, but she only said, “As you wish.”

As Tigerstar followed Blackfoot back out of the camp, he couldn’t help but feel slightly disturbed that Blackfoot seemed to be giving orders, not taking them. He supposed, though, that it was only natural that in a camp without an assigned leader, a natural one might emerge. So long as Blackfoot himself was still loyal to Tigerstar, it didn’t matter whether the rogues were following his orders out of loyalty or necessity.

“Tangleburr tells me the prey has been running well,” Tigerstar said.

Blackfoot’s yellow eyes flashed with an emotion Tigerstar could not name, and he stayed perfectly silent. Tigerstar stifled a growl of frustration. Was he mistaken in thinking that Blackfoot seemed displeased with him? Well, then he would say nothing more. If it was a renegotiation the rogue wanted, he would have to pursue it himself, not wait for Tigerstar to give in and offer it.

They walked in silence for some time, the only noise being the chirping of newly born chicks, growing impatient for their parents to return from the days’ scavenging. Only when they had nearly reached the edge of the trees did Blackfoot growl in frustration, swiping at the ground with outstretched claws.

“How long do you expect us to live like filthy rogues, lurking around the edges of your territory and waiting for orders?” Blackfoot demanded, turning on Tigerstar.

Tigerstar resisted the urge to snarl back. He drew himself up to his full height and looked down on the rogue with disdain. “As long as I need you to.”

Blackfoot’s tail lashed back and forth. “Why should we keep waiting in suspense for the day you finally deign to allow us to join you, when we have no reason to believe that day will ever come?” he growled.

Tigerstar eyed him silently. He wasn’t completely certain of what to say to convince the rogue to keep waiting. Before he could even speak again, Blackfoot broke his gaze, staring at the ground.

“There are good cats in that camp,” Blackfoot said more quietly. “We only want to live a good, honorable life in the Clans again.”

The rogue sighed deeply, and Tigerstar suppressed his smile of victory, knowing he had to look sympathetic. “Then stay patient,” he urged. “You will live that life again, soon, but ThunderClan isn’t ready for you yet. It has only been a moon since you attacked them in their own camp.”

Blackfoot met his eyes again. “You are their leader. You can tell them to do whatever you please,” he growled. “Your silver platitudes don’t matter to me anymore. We will not wait much longer.”

Was that a threat? Tigerstar took a step back. He narrowed his eyes, thinking for a moment. Did Blackfoot think he could take on the whole of ThunderClan? Or was he threatening to leave, and take all the rogues with him? Neither option was ideal.

The more he pondered the statement, the angrier Tigerstar grew. Did this ShadowClan rogue really think he could boss around a leader with nine lives?

Tigerstar stepped forward once more, not bothering to hold back his snarl this time. “You will wait as long as I ask you to, Blackfoot. Do you know why?” he said. “Because you have nowhere else to go. There is no other Clan that will take you. And if you don’t want my protection anymore, I won’t force you to take it. But then a ThunderClan patrol might discover you tomorrow, and I can’t imagine they’ll be too pleased to find a group of aggressive rogues on the edge of their territory.”

Blackfoot flinched and took a step back. He stared at the ground for several long, quiet heartbeats. 

“I don’t want to challenge you, Tigerstar,” he said slowly. “I just want what’s best for the cats in that clearing back there. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Then I’m sure you can understand that this _is_ what’s best for them,” Tigerstar purred. Blackfoot dipped his head, and started back toward the camp.

Tigerstar didn’t follow, but after a moment, he called, “And Blackfoot?”

The black-and-white tom lifted his head and looked back, his yellow gaze unreadable.

Tigerstar curled his lip. “Don’t go thinking you’re their little _leader_. You’re not. None of you are anything more than a bunch of rogues.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody talk me out of doing a Blackfoot POV bonus chapter


	19. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandstorm crosses borders, meets old friends, and finally learns the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackfoot bonus chapter is happening after all, but I didn't want to put this chapter off any longer than I have.

Her short, thin fur, even fluffed up, was not enough to buffet against the winds of the storm. In the time it had taken Sandstorm to cross ThunderClan territory, the storm had gone from a few droplets to a howling, thundering beast. She stood now at the edge of the Thunderpath, the surface of which was dark and slick with rain. The water had almost washed away the path’s acrid stench, but the thunder -which was coming at intervals of every few seconds - rumbled so loud and long it was difficult to hear if a monster was coming at all.

Crouching beneath a bush, Sandstorm looked anxiously over the path. Every time she gained the courage to put a paw out on it, she caught what she thought was a flash of monsters’ lights in the corner of her eye, or another rumble of thunder began and spooked her back to the edge.

She had crossed a Thunderpath only once before, on her journey to the Moonstone as an apprentice. But Whitestorm had been at her side then, wise and encouraging, and the sky had been clear and the path dry and empty. Now it was Sandstorm alone.

But on the other side of the path was the key to all her problems, according to StarClan - the grave of Ravenpaw, the cat she had grown up with until his sudden, sad death in the battle for ShadowClan’s freedom.

According to Redtail, this was the only way she could return justice to ThunderClan. She wasn’t sure how, but visiting Ravenpaw’s grave would solve everything.

With a deep, anticipatory breath, Sandstorm stood again, and crept out until her two front paws were both resting on the cold, stone path.

The Thunderpath was so slick she was afraid that if she ran she might slip, but it was so hard she couldn’t dig her claws in to help her balance. She would have to hope for a long lull in monsters passing, and take it slowly.

Sandstorm closed her eyes. _Please, let me get across this path in safety!_ She wasn’t sure if she was sending her silent prayer to StarClan, or Redtail, or to the monsters themselves, but as she stepped cautiously out further onto the path, she felt no rumble under her pads.

Heart thudding, Sandstorm walked further out onto the path, reaching the halfway point. Still there was none of the characteristic growling that announced a monster’s presence, nor any lights coming around the bends in the trees to announce their approach. For half a second, she almost managed to relax.

It was then that a loud _boom_ of thunder announced itself, and, startled, Sandstorm bolted. Her legs slid out from under her and she painfully landed on her side. To her horror, the rumbling from the thunder didn’t subside, and a light appeared on the trees, growing stronger as a monster approached. 

She leapt up, only to slip again on the slick stone. The monster was visible now, blaring noise. With a jolt of adrenaline, Sandstorm launched herself towards the ShadowClan edge of the path, landing in a ragged edge of broken stone and mud. Curling herself tightly into a ball, she rolled several times until she landed in a muddy puddle.

There she laid, perfectly still for several long minutes after the monster had gone. Her heart thudded in her throat. Finally, too terrified to stand, Sandstorm crept under a nearby bush and started to try to lick herself clean.

But in the rain, it was impossible to truly clean or dry herself. She crouched under the bush, desperately trying to stay calm, and wondering what on Earth she was supposed to do next.

This had been a stupid idea. She didn’t have any clue where Ravenpaw was buried, and for all she knew stormy weather was ShadowClan’s favorite time to patrol. 

Once she had finally managed to calm herself slightly, Sandstorm started deeper into the marsh. ShadowClan’s forest was sparser than ThunderClan’s, and she found herself jumping into cover at a moments’ notice. But before long, she heard some cat’s voice ringing through the trees.

“Ratpaw, come back… you’re not going to find anything in this weather… come on, now. Oakpaw, would you fetch him? You know I can’t get across the mud when it’s flooded like this.”

The voice sent a chill down Sandstorm’s back. It was one she knew very well, since kithood even. 

She wondered if she should just hide beneath a bush and wait for them to pass by, pretend she had never heard him at all. Before this moment she hadn’t known they’d come here; it would have been easy to pretend she’d never learned. But she still had no idea where she was supposed to be going, and surely since arriving here he must have visited his old friend’s grave, at least once…

Quickly, before she could change her mind, Sandstorm walked out into the wide clearing where Graystripe stood.

His yellow eyes widened until they were as round as the moon. “Sandstorm,” he said. 

“Graystripe,” she said, nodding but sure to keep her head low. Technically she was on his territory now.

She glanced him up and down, assessing his appearance and his reaction, knowing he was doing the same to her. Each of them seemed to be wondering who was going to get hostile first.

After seconds that stretched out far too long to be anything but awkward, Sandstorm said, “You look thin,” almost at the same time that Graystripe said, “You look like hell.”

Sandstorm hid her chuckle with a huff of feigned annoyance. “It’s… good to see you,” she said, and was surprised to find that the statement was honest. She had missed Graystripe’s humor, especially as the situation in ThunderClan had gotten more and more tense. “I need to talk to you. Can we get out of the rain for a moment?”

“Here,” Graystripe said, his eyes still round, and he headed under the roots of a nearby cypress tree.

The shelter wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the straggly bush Sandstorm had hidden under earlier. She licked her chest a few times before saying, “You can’t tell any cat I’ve been here.”

Graystripe looked skeptical. “Sandstorm, you… know I have to report this to ShadowClan, right? You’re trespassing.”

Sandstorm looked him over again. The Graystripe she had known would not have hesitated to bend the warrior code for a friend, but then, this Graystripe didn’t look quite the same as the one she’d known. His voice was steadier, his pelt better-kempt, and something in his posture had changed. He’d given orders to those apprentices earlier like it was old hat. He seemed a little more… grown-up than he had leaving ThunderClan. 

“Graystripe… if Tigerstar finds out I’ve been out here, he’ll…” Sandstorm trailed off. She genuinely was unsure of what might happen to her, but the events of that morning played themselves over in her mind. Surely this crime - trespassing, consorting with traitors - was greater than Cloudpaw’s had been. What would her punishment be, if Tigerstar ever found out? “No cat can know,” she insisted. “If there’s ever any chance of this getting back to ThunderClan, I will be dead, and I am not exaggerating.”

He looked troubled. “What’s happening over there?”

“Never mind,” Sandstorm mumbled. “Just… please.”

“Okay,” Graystripe said. “But why are you here?”

“I know this is going to sound strange, but I need to visit Ravenpaw’s grave,” Sandstorm said.

For a moment, Graystripe looked very confused, which puzzled Sandstorm in turn. Then he looked very guilty, which puzzled her even more.

“Ah,” he said. “I… forgot we told you all that.”

Suddenly feeling defensive, Sandstorm drew back, retreating to the other side of the root shelter. “Told us what?” she hissed.

Graystripe winced. “It wasn’t like that. Bluestar knew,” he quickly amended. “But… you can’t visit Ravenpaw’s grave because… he’s not actually dead.”

Sandstorm’s thoughts went blank.

She spluttered for a moment, every question she had seemingly battling to be the first to be said. Finally she managed, “ _What_?”

Graystripe covered his eyes with his paws, and, horrified by this reaction, Sandstorm reached forward and pulled them away. He met her gaze with an expression that seemed equal parts apprehension and guilt.

“We… may have thought he was in danger of Tigerclaw killing him, so we helped him run away to the barn before the battle started,” Graystripe said. 

This cleared nothing up.

“Bluestar _knew_?”

Graystripe scrambled backwards with alarm. “Not everything! She just knew that he left! She suggested telling everyone he was dead!”

Sandstorm kept her limbs tightly glued to her body, trying to resist the urge to swat him. Ravenpaw had been alive? Bluestar had lied to her Clan? She hadn’t even questioned why he’d left? _What in StarClan’s name else don’t I know about?_

“Don’t be angry,” Graystripe added, dropping to a crouch and giving her imploring eyes.

Sandstorm sighed. “I’m… not… too angry… at you,” she said. Something else occurred to her. “Didn’t Fireheart say something like this last moon, after… the rogue battle?”

Graystripe nodded quickly. “He was _trying_ to tell you all Ravenpaw was alive, but no cat wanted to believe him. _Sandstorm_.”

She scowled. Was he accusing her of something? Just because one thing Fireheart had said had turned out to be true didn’t mean he wasn’t a murderer and a traitor, and apparently now he had taken up with those vile, kit-stealing ShadowClanners, too. It wasn’t her _duty_ to stand up for him, and it wasn’t her fault she hadn’t known Ravenpaw was alive then. And even if she had, would she have said anything? It didn’t make anything else he’d done all right.

“You’re a good cat, Graystripe,” she said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Graystripe frowned. “In ShadowClan?”

“With Fireheart,” Sandstorm said exasperatedly. “He _killed Bluestar._ ”

Suddenly, Graystripe’s gaze turned cold. He stood up and regarded her. “I told you what you want to know. Ravenpaw’s in the barn now, living with Barley. Is there anything else you want?”

“Come back to ThunderClan with me,” Sandstorm said. She was almost begging. “I know we were never the closest of friends, Graystripe, but your Clan needs you, now more than ever. You have a place there. You made mistakes, but you aren’t _really_ a traitor, and you can earn respect in the eyes of StarClan again.”

“I…” Graystripe closed his eyes, and for a moment Sandstorm thought he might give in. But then he shook his head. “I’m not coming back with you, Sandstorm. I’m not going anywhere Fireheart isn’t welcome. Is there anything else you want?”

Defeated, Sandstorm said, “No.”

“Then I’m going to take Oakpaw and Ratpaw back to camp,” Graystripe said, “and not tell any cat I’ve seen you. I wouldn’t advise staying too long if you don’t want someone less friendly to come by.”

With that, he exited, leaving Sandstorm alone under the roots of the cypress.

For a long time, she stared at the inside of the roots of the tree and listened to the sound of the rain battering the flimsy wood that was offering her her shelter. She was drained. So much had happened today, and now, Sandstorm simply had no idea what to do next.

She wished Redtail’s ghost would appear again, offer her reassurance and tell her where to go now, but he didn’t.

Even knowing she had to go back out in the rain and the mud, she bathed herself clean, both thinking through her every option and trying not to think at all. When Sandstorm was satisfied that she was clean, she crouched at the entrance to the roots, trying to determine which way to go.

Why had Redtail told her to visit Ravenpaw’s grave if he had no grave yet?

…but he hadn’t told her to do that at all, had he? Since the beginning, he had made no mentions of graves or bodies. She had assumed that was being left unsaid, but now she knew that Redtail must have seen that Ravenpaw was alive all along.

That meant the key to all her problems didn’t lay here in ShadowClan territory. She needed to speak to Ravenpaw face-to-face. She needed to go to the barn.

Sandstorm glanced up at the sky, dark with clouds, and guessed it was about midday. She could probably miss her sunset patrol without too much drama - she’d get apprentice duties or something, but nothing as bad as what Cloudpaw had gotten, not without any evidence that she’d crossed the border. But if she wanted to make it to the barn on time to speak with Ravenpaw and be back at camp before next dawn, she would have to leave now, and run most of the way. She hadn’t yet eaten, but she would have no time to hunt or even rest a moment. The longer she took, the more likely the rain was to let up and allow her to meet a patrol.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself for the journey, and headed west.

—

By the time Sandstorm was within sight of the barn, the rain had slowed to a light patter, though the sky was still completely covered in clouds. She felt soaked straight through to the bone, and the layers of sticky mud on her paws didn’t help matters much. But the taste on the wind promised milder weather soon, and Sandstorm was beginning to see a ray of hope.

Perhaps Ravenpaw really _did_ know something that could change everything. Somehow he could make the world all right again. In her heart of hearts, Sandstorm knew there was nothing in the world he could say to fix everything, but she fueled herself on that hope when her last scrap of energy failed her.

The day was beginning to grow dark, and if Sandstorm could see the sun through the clouds she guessed it would be sunset as she reached the entrance of the barn.

For a moment its size overwhelmed her. It was like a den, almost, but built for giants. She had been here once before and been almost equally awed. Finally tearing her eyes away from the distant ceilings and walls she called out, “Ravenpaw?”

No cat answered, and Sandstorm waited a moment before trying again. “Ravenpaw?”

Instead of Ravenpaw, a black-and-white cat came around the edge of one of the bales of hay, holding a mouse in his jaws. He was a bit older than her and gave her a cautious, but not unfriendly look. Sandstorm remembered him from her trip to the Moonstone as an apprentice - they had spoken with him briefly but not stayed for long. She dipped her head.

“I’m just looking for a black tom,” she said. “An old friend of mine. I heard he lived around here now.”

“I know Ravenpaw,” the cat said. “Who are you?”

“Sandstorm of ThunderClan. From the other side of the moor,” she added.

“I know ThunderClan,” the cat said. He looked at her skeptically, then said, “You look tired. Would you like something to eat?”

Sandstorm hesitated. She hadn’t eaten all day, and her stomach was gnawing at her insides with protest. But she didn't have time to rest if she wanted to speak to Ravenpaw and make it back to camp before morning light. “No thank you,” she said.

“It’s no worry,” the black-and-white tom said in a tone that suggested he was going to put fresh-kill in front of her whether she asked for it or not. “I’ll show you to Ravenpaw, follow me.”

To Sandstorm’s surprise, the loner did not head back out into the rain, but led her deeper into the barn and towards some sort of wooden Twoleg thing which he climbed to get to an upper part of the structure. Digging her claws in tightly, Sandstorm hopped from branch to branch to ascend, amazed to watch the loner scale it with graceful ease.

When they had reached the top, they found themselves on some sort of ledge covered with hay bedding. Te loner led her to a nest near the wall, where a small black cat lay sleeping.

The loner approached Ravenpaw and nosed him.

“Hmm.. Barley, what’s going on? Oh… Sandstorm?” Ravenpaw blinked several times, his expression growing more confused.

Sandstorm felt awkward. Ravenpaw was Dustpelt’s brother, but she had never been as close to him, and in their apprentice days had even helped fuel their sibling rivalry, perhaps too much. She had always wondered if her and Dustpelt’s constant mocking had had any contribution to Ravenpaw apparently flinging himself recklessly into battle. She had thought that maybe if they hadn’t bullied him so much, he wouldn’t have felt the need to prove himself, and wouldn’t have ended up dead. 

She’d pushed those thoughts aside for Dustpelt’s sake, for he was undoubtedly more affected by his brother’s loss. But now, after moons of suppressed guilt, here Ravenpaw was in front her her, lying in a comfortable nest and giving her a faintly puzzled expression.

“Hi,” she said.

Barley muttered something to Ravenpaw and left them.

“Er… don’t take this the wrong way, but I was under the impression you thought I was dead,” Ravenpaw said. One side of his mouth quirked up into a smile.

“I did until this morning,” Sandstorm said. “It’s been a long day.”

Ravenpaw raised his brow. “Sounds like it. Would you like to rest a little while?”

“Actually, I need to speak with you about something urgent,” Sandstorm said. Ravenpaw’s relaxed attitude was making her antsy. It seemed unlike him, especially when she was clearly here for a reason.

But the black tom just smiled skeptically. “When do you need to be back?”

“By morning’s light at least.”

“Then you have until moonrise. Take a moment to rest. You look just about ready to drop,” Ravenpaw said. He stood, and quickly cleared a spot in the hay, then led Sandstorm to it with a gentle touch. “Relax a little bit, Barley is coming back up with some prey for you.”

Sandstorm wanted to protest, but her whole body seemed to be fighting against her. As she laid in the makeshift nest, the warm and musky scent of the barn washed over her, and the patter of rain against the roof seemed to overtake the noise of Ravenpaw speaking. Before she knew it, she had gone to sleep.

When she woke some time later, Ravenpaw had gone, but Barley was sitting and grooming himself a few fox-lengths away. For a moment Sandstorm felt like relaxing and slipping back into sleep, but then she alarmed herself by thinking of her deadline.

“Barley, what time is it?” she asked.

He glanced up at her. “You have a while before moonrise. I’ll fetch Ravenpaw for you.” And he disappeared between the hay piles.

Sandstorm found a mouse in front of her that must have been left for her, and was to hungry to wait to ask and be certain. She tore into it with delight. It was the best mouse she had ever eaten.

Ravenpaw returned alone and settled across from her, lying with his feet tucked under him and watching her eat. Between bites, Sandstorm said, “Is Barley always so-”

“Antisocial?” Ravenpaw finished. “Not always, but then, there's not always an unfamiliar warrior in our barn asking after me. I’m the only cat he really speaks with.”

 _Our barn._ Sandstorm didn’t miss the familiarity with which he said the words. “So you really live here now?”

“Yes,” Ravenpaw said. “It’s much calmer here. The only cats around are Barley and I and the occasional WindClan patrol, and the Twolegs keep most real threats away. I have a lot less to worry about now.”

It must have been true, because looking at Ravenpaw, he seemed almost alien to the jumpy, nervous apprentice Sandstorm had grown up with. He seemed so relaxed and laid-back now.

For half a second Sandstorm thought, wildly, that she could do the same as he had done. Run away from her problems and live in a barn where nothing ever happened. In the back of her mind she knew she could never abandon her Clan, but the fantasy sounded wonderful. “I wish my life was a little more like that,” Sandstorm said aloud.

“Has ThunderClan not been doing well, then? WindClan seemed to think you were fine,” Ravenpaw said with genuine concern. Sandstorm’s heart warmed. Had he been keeping an eye on them from afar?

“…no,” Sandstorm admitted. “Bluestar died about a moon back, and Tigerstar succeeded her. Things have gotten… really strange.”

She filled Ravenpaw in on the details of the last moon - Tigerstar’s obsession with loyalty, his formation of an inner circle, and worst of all, the terrible events of that morning. She avoided describing Cloudpaw and Darkstripe’s fight in too much detail, but even the bare bones of the situation made Ravenpaw recoil.

“Oh, dear,” he managed.

In the ensuing silence, Sandstorm quickly finished her mouse, and Barley returned to the upper part of the barn, curling up behind Ravenpaw. When Sandstorm began to speak again, the black-and-white loner listened silently with ears pricked, even as Ravenpaw himself kneaded at the ground distractedly.

“To make matters even stranger, I’ve been having these dreams,” Sandstorm said. “My… my father kept appearing to me and begging me to do something. He would tell me that the Clan was headed down a dark path and that it was my responsibility to fix things. But when I asked him what to do, all he said was to find you. Redtail seemed to think that somehow, you could stop this madness.”

At the name Redtail, Barley’s ears perked up further. He prodded Ravenpaw.

Sandstorm’s eyes narrowed. Was there something the loners weren’t telling her? “Ravenpaw..?” she said.

The black tom took a shaky breath. “I… think I may know what Redtail was thinking of,” he said.

“Back when I was still in ThunderClan… the day Firepaw arrived, do you remember, I was the one to run back from that patrol and report Redtail’s death, before any other cat got there?” Ravenpaw said.

Sandstorm could hardly forget that terrible day. Her father's lifeless eyes would never leave her memory. She drew her paws in closer to her body and nodded.

“I didn’t manage to tell every cat what I’d really seen before I passed out, and by the time I came to, it was far too late. It would have been my word against Tigerclaw’s. He-” Ravenpaw cut off. He shivered, so long that it turned into a persistent tremble. Barley, looking more and more alarmed by the minute, started to groom him with quick, rough licks.

“You don’t have to speak,” Barley murmured.

“ThunderClan deserves to know,” Ravenpaw insisted. He fixed Sandstorm in the eyes. “Tigerclaw told me to run from the battle, but half a second after running I decided to turn back. I don’t even remember why anymore. Maybe I was trying to prove myself to him, or maybe I could sense that he was going to try something. Either way, I was in the bushes watching when it happened. Oakheart didn’t kill your father, Sandstorm. Tigerclaw did.”

Sandstorm felt ill.

When she said nothing, Ravenpaw continued, “I don’t know if he saw me in the bushes watching, or heard me leave - he might not have ever realized I witnessed his crime. But those next few moons, he must have thought I was the only cat who could possibly guess, so he tormented me. Firepaw said once he heard Tigerclaw convincing the queens I might be a spy from ShadowClan. When I came back with an adder that once, it was because he assigned me to hunt at Snakerocks. We saw that things weren’t going to get any better, so Firepaw and Graypaw helped me leave.”

This was the truth Redtail had been leading her to all along. The true identity of his murderer. It had been Tigerstar all along, just as Fireheart had claimed all those days ago.

“Fireheart was telling the truth about Redtail,” she said.

Ravenpaw sighed, looking away. “I’m sorry. I should have told you - have told everyone, long before this.”

“Would we have believed you?” Sandstorm wondered aloud. She could still remember Fireheart’s trial, where he’d tried to expose the truth, as though it was yesterday. Not a single cat had given any thought to his words, even for a moment.

Could Fireheart really be innocent? But if he was, that mean that Tigerstar had to have killed Bluestar, like Fireheart claimed. Could Sandstorm really believe _that_?

“The past is in the past now,” Ravenpaw said quietly. “What matters is… you know the truth now. You can tell the Clan the truth.”

Sandstorm sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted once more. Telling the Clan the truth would be so much more complicated than Ravenpaw made it sound. “One last thing,” she said. “Was Oakheart really killed in a rockfall?”

Ravenpaw looked surprised. “I don’t know,” he said. “Is that what Fireheart said? I wasn't there to see that part, so I assumed your father killed him, but maybe RiverClan would know. If it were true, it would certainly help the Clan believe you.”

Sandstorm got to her paws, her mind swirling with the days revelations. She felt dizzy, but she still needed to return before morning light. “I should get going,” she said.

Ravenpaw stood to lick her ear in goodbye. “Good luck, Sandstorm,” he said. “If you need help, I will always be happy to come and fight for ThunderClan. As much as I love living here, you will always be my friends.”

Suddenly overwhelmed, Sandstorm pushed her head into his shoulder and nuzzled him affectionately. Ravenpaw licked her shoulders, the gesture reassuring, and finally she stood back and nodded to him, not needing to say anything to express her appreciation.

As she headed out into the night, Sandstorm wondered if StarClan were watching her. Silverpelt was twinkling far above, but they were so vast and so distant. Would her attempts to save ThunderClan really matter in the end? Or would she become like Ravenpaw, another cat driven away by their failure to help the Clan they loved?

No, Sandstorm thought. No matter how dire things got, she would never stop defending her Clan. ThunderClan was the thing she loved the very most, and she would never leave it in danger, not so long as she lived.


	20. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireheart stands trial before ShadowClan. Princess meets the forest. Fleetwhisker receives a sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Sorry I'm a bit late tonight, I hope you all still have time to read <3
> 
> This chapter also marks the end of Act 1, so I'd like to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who's stuck with this story so far! When I started writing I thought I would do maybe 20 chapters tops before either running out of ideas or abandoning the story, but all your support has left me inspired and energized to write time and time again. It really is thanks to you guys that this story is still going, so I genuinely cannot thank you enough. This is quickly becoming one of the longest stories I've ever written, and it re-upped my interest in writing and made me start thinking about a future career in writing again for the first time in a long time. You are all wonderful, and I hope you enjoy. <3

Looking out over the gathered Clan, Fireheart’s anxiety had rocketed to an all-time high.

It would have been one thing to be rejected from ShadowClan outright, as soon as he and Graystripe had arrived. That would have been a blow, but they could have survived easily. They would have loped off into the woods, bitter and hurting but ultimately fine.

 _Now_ , though, when Fireheart looked into the faces of the Clan, he was not looking over the faces of strangers. He could name each cat. Russetfur was sitting near the front, looking guilty and anxious in halves. She’d come into his den and checked on him last night when she thought he was asleep. Next to her, Littlecloud was speaking to Bouldernose in low tones. The pair of them had helped him stretch his leg after he injured it hunting. Nearby, Tallpoppy sat rigidly straight, her eyes suspiciously averted, as though she was expecting to hear horribly bad news. Above him, on the rock, Fleetwhisker was anxiously tapping his foot.

To fail to convince them would not be just mean another group of cats who didn’t believe the truth Fireheart was trying to speak. It would mean the loss of another Clan full of cats he cared for.

Several fox-lengths to Fireheart’s left, Graystripe pressed close to Princess, clearly trying to be reassuring. Fireheart knew that at the sight of so many strange, feral forest cats, she must be feeling almost as anxious as he was, but she had kept impressively calm. Her chin was high and her posture was so perfect that a cat who didn’t know her might simply assume that she had the grace of a leopard by nature; it was only Fireheart, and maybe Graystripe, who realized she was simply trying to hide her nervousness. She met his eyes and gave him a weak smile, but was quickly drawn back into staring at the crowd, and Fireheart couldn’t blame her for her agitated fascination.

He closed his eyes, leaned back into the loamy earth. A hot, humid breeze was flowing through the camp, ruffling his fur just slightly. Spring was nearly over, after its first and last big storm. A long, dry summer was quickly approaching. Today would determine if he spent it here, or in the wilderness, almost alone.

Finally there was a murmur in the small crowd of gathered cats. Fireheart opened his eyes to witness Nightstar emerging from the sick side of camp.

The Clan leader had, apparently, insisted on at least being present for the trial, and to be fair Fireheart couldn’t imagine any Clan leader being satisfied missing such an event. This, then, had been the presence they had been waiting for to begin. Nightstar, carefully distancing himself from the Clan, came around and settled a few fox-lengths away from Fireheart on the other side from Graystripe and Princess.

Fleetwhisker, above, cleared his throat. His voice surprisingly steady, he said, “Fireheart, you stand accused of murder. What say you to these charges?”

Fireheart took a deep breath. He had never seen such a trial before, not in Bluestar’s ThunderClan - but Fleetwhisker had assured him that, at least on this side of the Thunderpath, it was a long-standing tradition and the easiest way to address serious charges such as these. They had, several nights prior, gone over the structure and ceremony of the event.

“I claim innocence,” Fireheart recited, lifting his chin. Tallpoppy’s tail twitched .

“According to the accuser, Fireheart turned on his leader in the midst of battle and killed her, as well as conspiring to kill the deputy. The accuser is none other than the leader of ThunderClan, Tigerstar himself. We have no other details from the accuser, but his status as the leader of the Clan proves to us that Bluestar, Fireheart’s alleged victim, is indeed dead,” Fleetwhisker said, now turning to the crowd. Fireheart felt strangely confident knowing what was happening now. First, Fleetwhisker would explain to the crowd all of the evidence that Fireheart had indeed killed Bluestar - evidence that was scant indeed.

Once that was finished, Fireheart would finally have the chance to reveal the truth once and for all.

Fleetwhisker listed a few other facts - that Fireheart had come to them with injuries suggesting that he had battled a hard opponent like Tigerstar, that no ThunderClan warrior had refuted Tigerstar’s claims - before pausing.

“The accusation stands thus,” he said. “Fireheart, you will now be given an opportunity to prove yourself truthful in the eyes of StarClan. Do you swear that for the duration of this trial, your tongue will not tangle, and your heart will not waver?”

“I do,” Fireheart promised.

“Then speak to your innocence.”

He took a deep breath and stood. Suddenly, his heart was thudding hard in his throat, making him almost feel ill. But he knew the proper words, had rehearsed the important parts over and over in his mind. All he had left to do was be heard.

“Some of you may know the barn cats,” he began, “That live beyond WindClan territory on the way to Highstones. If you’ve taken the journey, you may even remember stopping to hunt with them or spend the night, if you had the time. You may have noticed that the small black cat there goes by a Clan name, though I’ll doubt he answered your questions about it. What you may not know is that he was not born a loner at all, but in fact was an apprentice of ThunderClan, and one of my dear friends.

“Ravenpaw had to leave our Clan, in secret, with the help of Graystripe and I, because Tigerclaw was making threats on his life,” Fireheart said grimly. A shocked murmur went through the crowd, but no cat seemed disbelieving.

Filled with a burst of confidence from the reaction, he went on, “Ravenpaw had witnessed Tigerclaw in the midst of another crime - killing our Clan deputy, Redtail.

“You may have heard that Redtail was killed by Oakheart in battle, and Tigerclaw took Oakheart’s life in return. This is indeed the story that Tigerclaw told upon returning to camp, and I am sure the story Bluestar repeated at the Gathering. But in reality, Oakheart was killed by a rockfall in a terrible accident. Seeing his opportunity, Tigerclaw killed the deputy, in an attempt to be named to the position himself.”

Fireheart paused. He wished he’d had time to get Ravenpaw to come and speak for him. He wished he still knew any RiverClan cats who would trust him enough to come and confirm his assertions. But all he had was himself.

“If you don’t believe me,” he said, “you can ask Ravenpaw himself. And any RiverClan cat will be quite confused if you try to tell them Tigerclaw killed Oakheart, for their whole patrol saw him die in that rockfall. You needn’t just believe me. You can check for yourselves.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Nightstar hunch over, curling into a smaller position. He wondered if that were a good or a bad thing.

“Unfortunately, this is not the only crime Tigerclaw has committed,” Fireheart said. “Once he did become deputy, the position was not enough for him. He set his sights on Bluestar, intent on having her position.

“He sent for her one day, claiming that he had found something urgent near the Thunderpath and that she must come meet him immediately. Bluestar was too ill to go, and my own apprentice took it upon herself to meet him there instead. However, it…” 

Fireheart paused, a wave of fierce regret washing over him. He had played the events of that day over and over in his mind, wondering if there was anything he could have done to prevent Cinderpaw’s injuries. She hadn’t deserved what had happened. Perhaps if he’d shared his suspicions with her, perhaps if he’d kept a closer eye on her, perhaps if he’d kept her busy some other way…

“Fireheart?” Fleetwhisker prompted gently. “What happened then?”

“Tigerstar had no message at all, but a trap. He had found a place on the Thunderpath where it was difficult for a monster to swerve away from a target it didn’t intend to hit, and where it was difficult for a cat to see that a monster was coming for them. Unfortunately, my own apprentice was caught in it,” Fireheart forced himself to say, “and if you know Cinderpaw, you know that she nearly died, and is crippled to this day.”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. He had to keep speaking.

“But one failure was not enough to deter Tigerclaw,” Fireheart said, feeling as though he was practically forcing the words out now. His voice had dropped low and painful. “When we took Brokentail in, he conspired to bring the exiled leader’s gang of lackeys onto our territory, and convinced them to ambush our camp when we were weakest. During the battle, he disappeared into Bluestar’s den. By the time I could fight my way in, it was… too late.

“He fought me, then, and won. And after he had torn me half to shreds, he dragged me before the Clan and accused me of killing my own mentor. He forced me to try to defend myself, half-dead as I was, and when I failed to do so to his satisfaction, he ordered me leave,” Fireheart finished.

Tigerstar’s words rung in his ears like it was yesterday. _I’d like to flay you, Fireheart. But first I need you for one last thing._

“Is this all?” Fleetwhisker said calmly.

Fireheart paused, wondering if there was anything more he could say. Any more detail, however small, that would convince them all. But there was nothing. He dipped his head and said, “Yes. I would like now to call a witness who can corroborate my story.”

“Let them stand forward,” Fleetwhisker said.

Shaking, Princess stood and came to sit by Fireheart’s side, though she maintained a distance between them of about a tail-length. He longed to lean into her, reassure himself as well as her, but Fireheart knew she was trying to maintain the air of seriousness and formality, and he knew that if he was the one to break it, it would look badly upon him.

“Princess, do you swear that for the duration of this trial, your tongue will not tangle and your heart will not waver?” Fleetwhisker said.

Princess turned to look at Fireheart, her amber eyes intense. A chill ran down Fireheart’s spine as he realized he had never seen her quite so determined. Perhaps he’d misread her body language before - maybe she really _had_ been born with the grace of a leopard.

“I do,” she vowed.

“Then speak to your brother’s innocence.”

Princess turned back to the crowd, taking several long breaths. “I do not need to tell you,” she said, “that my brother is a cat of honor. You have all lived with him long enough to know this for yourselves. I am not a character witness, because all of you are character witnesses yourselves. It is up to you, whether you think that this cat is capable of the crimes he has been accused of.

“But I do have one more piece of evidence to bring up. Fireheart mentioned the tragedy that befell his apprentice, but what he did not mention was how he realized the truth behind it. After his apprentice’s accident, Fireheart had visited me and was telling me of the sad circumstances. I remember very clearly that all he said was that Cinderpaw had run out to get a message for Bluestar from Tigerclaw, and he was so consumed with grief that he seemed unable to think of why that might be.

“I wondered why Tigerclaw would ask to meet at such a dangerous place, and I was the one who realized it must have been a trap all along. Fireheart could scarcely believe it at first.”

Princess paused, crossing her forepaws over one another nervously. “I hope you make the right decision, ShadowClan,” she said.

“Is that all?” Fleetwhisker asked her. 

She nodded and returned to Graystripe’s side, leaving Fireheart alone in front of the crowd once more.

“Thank you, Princess. Fireheart, have you anything more to say or any more witnesses to call?” Fleetwhisker said.

“I do not,” he answered.

“Then ShadowClan will confer. Cats of ShadowClan, if you believe Fireheart's claim of innocence, stand now.”

Fireheart swallowed, his stomach turning uncomfortably. In order for his name to be cleared, the leader, the medicine cat, and the Clan as a whole would each have to believe him. The Clan would only be counted if three out of every four cats stood now to show their belief.

To Fireheart’s surprise, the first to stand was Rowanberry. He had barely spoken to her, but she gave him a sympathetic smile now. Her action seemed to break the seal for the others, and the rest of the Clan stood until only Flintfang, Dawncloud, and Tallpoppy remained seated.

Suddenly, the warm air seemed a lot heavier. Fireheart clenched his jaw, trying not to betray his disappointment. For the Clan to be counted as on his side, one more cat needed to stand. Without that, this whole trial and all his preparation would mean nothing.

Time seemed to slow down, and Fireheart was almost certain that Fleetwhisker was about to call the vote against him. But then Tallpoppy finally looked at him, for the first time that day.

She stared at him intently, as though through her hazel gaze alone she could determine the truth of his actions. Fireheart stared back, desperate for her to believe him. After what felt like a hundred years, Tallpoppy wrinkled her nose and nodded, almost imperceptibly, at the nursery.

Fireheart knew what she was asking of him, why she doubted him. He was a ThunderClan cat by nature, and no cat in ShadowClan had had much reason to trust them for a very long time. She wanted to know if he was really harmless, not if he was innocent.

He could almost hear her challenging him - _Fireheart, these are the kits of your Clan’s longest enemy. Will you protect them with all your strength?_

Without hesitation, Fireheart nodded, and Tallpoppy nodded in return, curtly, and stood.

He didn’t mistake the sighs of relief he heard from Bouldernose and Russetfur.

Fleetwhisker said, “The Clan believes Fireheart’s innocence. Nightstar, leader of ShadowClan, what say you?”

Nightstar straightened himself up, yellow eyes dull, and spiraled into a coughing fit. After a few moments it settled down, and he wheezed, “I believe Fireheart’s innocence. No murderer of any intelligence would invite us to double-check his evidence.”

There was a scuffle of claw on rock above and Fleetwhisker leapt down to stand beside Fireheart, brushing his tail against Fireheart’s pelt as he walked past.

“I, medicine cat of ShadowClan, believe Fireheart’s claim. In the eyes of our Clan, in the eyes of the truth, and in the eyes of StarClan, this cat is innocent,” Fleetwhisker said with a purr.

Fireheart breathed out a long sigh of relief, realizing suddenly he’d been holding his breath. At first, he just swayed slightly where he stood, letting himself bask in the feeling of having nothing more to prove.

Then the weight of his situation hit him. At least here, on this side of the Thunderpath, Fireheart was finally free of the accusation that had plagued him ever since that terrible battle. And with a whole Clan on his side, proving his innocence to the others would be that much easier.

Moreover, he didn’t have to leave Clan life behind. He could stay in the forest, as he’d always wished and dreamed to as a kit. 

Paws feeling light, Fireheart stepped forward, and brushed pelts with Fleetwhisker. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. You were innocent,” the medicine cat replied.

Fleetwhisker opened his jaws as if to say something else, but they both were distracted by a sudden brightness. Looking up, Fireheart saw that the cloudy sky had parted in front of a sun, to allow one sunbeam to fall just onto them.

It was strange, but Fireheart’s pelt felt cooler standing in the direct sunlight.

Beside him, Fleetwhisker did not move or speak. His eyes were wide, and his pupils dilated. He seemed glued to the spot, unmoving. Only when the sunlight was interrupted by the passing of some bird far above did the he blink again.

“Fleetwhisker?” Fireheart said, concerned.

The medicine cat blinked several more times, as though he were trying to get his bearings. “I - I’ve had a vision,” he stammered.

Tallpoppy jumped forward and sniffed him over. “Are you all right?” she said. She glanced at Fireheart, but to his surprise, there was no suspicion in her gaze now, only worry for their friend.

“I’m fine,” Fleetwhisker said, suddenly seeming irritable - as in, back to his old self. “I know how to keep my wits about me when encountering StarClan.”

“What did you see?” Littlecloud exclaimed, shooting to his paws.

Fleetwhisker wrinkled his nose and backed up a few steps. “Give me some room,” he grumbled. “It was a sign of ShadowClan’s future.

“I could see us, and our kits and grandkits, for many moons. ShadowClan has a great, shining future. One day we’ll be the strongest and wisest of all the Clans. But we must go through a great many hardships first,” he said.

Despite the diluting statement at the end, the thought of the future made Fireheart's spirits rise once more. His future, and ShadowClan’s, lay bright ahead. He only had to endure the path there. Glancing over to where Graystripe and Princess still stood a few fox-lengths away, he beckoned them come over, and wordlessly pressed himself close to them, purring.


	21. Bonus: Blackfoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackfoot, Jag and Clawface go to fetch Mowgli from Twolegplace.

Blackfoot led his patrol silently in the still morning air, letting the sound of their pawsteps on the soft, wet ground be covered by birdsong and wind. They skirted the border, careful not to get too close, and soon crossed onto the drier forest that stretched between ThunderClan territory and Twolegplace.

It was a few mornings after Tigerstar’s visit, and after their conversation, Blackfoot was not eager to disobey the ThunderClan leader, regardless of whatever personal disdain he may have held towards him. So when Tangleburr reported that Tigerstar had ordered they go after Mowgli and retrieve him, Blackfoot had, however hesitantly, planned an outing.

Jag and Clawface stood behind him now, each of them a little too confident for his tastes. Blackoot knew they both fully believed they could take on a ThunderClan patrol on their own if they strayed over the border, an assumption so wildly self-aggrandizing it was difficult for Blackfoot to comprehend. But that was how Brokenstar had operated - he convinced cats that they were all that was left of a once-pure and honorable forest, and that every other cat had been weakened by the tainting of their blood with kittypets. The difference was, Blackfoot didn’t believe in that sort of thing anymore. Jag and Clawface still did.

Once they were far enough from the border that they wouldn’t stray over, Blackfoot turned around. “Fan out,” he ordered. “We’re more likely to find a scent trail or some fur or something if we cover more ground.”

Jag and Clawface nodded and disappeared into the undergrowth, leaving Blackfoot alone. He started to sniff around, but if he was being honest, he wasn’t much focused on the task of finding Mowgli.

Half of him hoped that they would find nothing, just so he would have a good excuse not to go after the wretched creature, but he knew Tigerstar wouldn’t take that as an answer. For some reason, the O So Mighty ThunderClan leader wanted Mowgli back in the forest, so back in the forest he would arrive, even if he had to be dragged kicking and screaming.

Besides, it wasn’t so horrible as that. The poor thing really _had_ wanted to join the Clans, when he was first recruited by Tigerstar. It was just that he hadn’t quite understood what that meant.

Blackfoot kept his nose to the ground as he walked, even though he was barely scenting at all now. He tried not to think about some of the things he’d seen - and done - with Brokenstar. Clan life was hard, and however much the code was worshiped, it was not obeyed. That was no cat’s fault. It was what he had chosen, and it was what every other cat in the forest had chosen, too.

“Blackfoot, I’ve found something,” Clawface called from somewhere a few tree-lengths away. Blackfoot shook his head quickly to clear it, and bounded over.

Sure enough, Clawface was sniffing at a few droplets of dried blood, which stood out darkly against the bark of a birch tree. Blackfoot shouldered the brown tom aside and sniffed them himself.

They smelled familiar, but Blackfoot was no great tracker. He glanced at Clawface. “You’re sure?” he said.

Clawface narrowed his eyes. “We can ask Jag, if you’d like,” he said, not bothering to hide his irritation at being asked.

Blackfoot fought down the urge to snap at him. It wouldn’t help any cat to start infighting between them, especially when they had nowhere else to go if an argument escalated. “Jag, come over here,” he called, raising his voice.

It didn't take more than a few moments for Jag to reappear, claws out. “You found him?”

“StarClan, put those away,” Blackfoot growled. “Of course we haven’t found him, you bat-brain, we’ve barely been out here fifteen minutes. We’re trying to figure out if this blood is his. What do you think?”

As Jag stepped forward to sniff at the blood, Blackfoot shot an irritated look at Clawface, who rolled his eyes in return. Suddenly, all of Blackfoot’s irritation at his fellow ShadowClanner’s arrogance evaporated. At least they understood one another. Jag was just a stranger, a rogue, and an idiot.

Jag stepped back again, nose wrinkled. “That’s him, all right. You don’t get that tang on your scent from living in the forest. And it seems Tangleburr was right - the scent leads straight back to Twolegplace.”

For half a second, Blackfoot eyed the red-brown tom suspiciously and wondered if Jag might have a reason to lead them to Twolegplace. Unlike Clawface and Blackfoot, he had no motivations to benefit any of the Clans, and he had no family to possibly ever return to in the forest. As near as they could tell, his loyalty was to Tigerstar and Tigerstar alone. If the ThunderClan leader ordered Jag to lead his camp-mates into some sort of trap as revenge for Blackfoot’s insubordination, would he do it?

Then, he dismissed the thought. As bad as Tigerstar was, he was not Brokenstar. And fleeing back to Twolegplace seemed in line with Mowgli’s frightened, nervous demeanor. Blackfoot nodded to Jag, stepping back to allow him to lead the way.

They crossed the lean stretch of forest quickly, soon reaching the fence at the edge of Twolegplace. Jag seemed slightly less confident once they had left the trees and begun padding along the edge of a Thunderpath, but Blackfoot let him retain the lead, happy to walk in stride with Clawface for now and keep a lookout for any aggressive rogues. Tracking was hardly his strong suit anyhow; better for each cat to make himself useful in a practical way than let ego get in the way. 

When three cats appeared on the other side of the Thunderpath, wearing studded kittypet-collars and staring at them unrelentingly, Jag suddenly began to lead them down strange routes, making sudden turns before finally ducking under a Twoleg monster that was sleeping on the side of the path. Blackfoot followed dutifully, as did Clawface, grumbling. When they were settled under the monster, Blackfoot crawled forward to get a better look at the cats following them.

They looked small and lean, but their gazes were hungry. Something about them made Blackfoot feel as though a beetle were crawling under his skin.

“Why are we hiding under here? We should go out there and rip their pelts off,” Clawface said, flexing his claws.

“For StarClan’s sake, Clawface, they’re just kittypets,” Blackfoot said, ignoring his uncomfortable feeling. “They’re no harm to us.”

“Actually, they’re not kittypets,” Jag said. “And they’re very dangerous. But so long as we stay out of their way and don’t take any food, it shouldn’t be a problem. We’re only on the outskirts of their territory.”

Blackfoot turned, narrowing his eyes. “Well, wait. If they’re no problem, then why _are_ we hiding under here?”

Jag blinked. “Better safe than sorry.”

It was hard for him to tell if the rogue was just being flippant, but Blackfoot decided to take the answer at face value. He turned to watch the collared rogues again, but they had disappeared. After several minutes of no movement, Jag decided they were safe, and led them again out onto the streets.

Later that afternoon, after a truly agonizing length of time spent wandering the hardened Twoleg paths, Jag finally looked down a darkened path between two nests and said, “He's down there, hiding somewhere.”

Blackfoot’s pads were cracked and longing for a rest, but he ignored them, stepping forward to take the lead in heading down the new path. It was much shadier and cooler than the main paths Jag had taken them on, and filled with acrid-smelling Twoleg junk. It was also short, ending abruptly in a wall. In one corner, a small pile of large brown leaf-like things was rising and falling gently.

He nosed one aside to reveal Mowgli hidden beneath the leaves, but the image didn’t last long. Alarmed, Mowgli leapt nearly all the way into the air and then backed quickly up against the wall.

“You’re back,” he stammered.

Clawface pushed Blackfoot aside, muttering, “Let me handle this.” Blackfoot severely doubted Clawface would accomplish much of anything, but he stood back.

Mowgli pushed himself against the wall as much as physics would allow, clearly frightened, and Clawface grinned. The bulky tom raised one paw and slid his claws out. “You’re coming back with us, you little coward. Did you really think you could abandon Tigerstar in his time of need? No, you’re going to have to come back, or else.”

Jag darted forward, lighting up with cruel enthusiasm. “Little bitch-boy,” he taunted. “Couldn't handle blood, could you? What a little kitten.”

Blackfoot growled. This wasn’t helping any cat, and it was just frightening poor Mowgli more. “Stop that,” he said. “Come away at once.”

He was relieved that Clawface and Jag actually obeyed, stepping back without another word. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had to deal with a fucking mutiny.

Mowgli was still pressed against the wall, yellow eyes wide and round with terror. He was shaking like the legs of a kit learning how to walk, or an apprentice that had just finished their first tour of the territory. Blackfoot stepped forward, keeping his head low and his posture nonthreatening.

“Why did you come back here?” he said.

Mowgli looked away, seeming almost ashamed. “I… I thought I would go back to my old housefolk, the ones I grew up with before I ended up a street cat. I thought they might still take me back. They were gone, though, and I ended up… here,” he stammered.

 _What a coward,_ Blackfoot thought.

He didn’t feel any disdain, though, only pity. He was a coward too, after all.

“Look, Mowgli, you wanted to be a Clan cat, right?” he said.

“I-I did before, yes,” Mowgli said.

“Then you’ve got to come back,” Blackfoot said. “It’s true that maybe things were better in the old days, in your old home, before everything got so complicated. But those days are long gone now, and that old home won’t welcome you back, my friend, even if you wish they would. You can love them as much as you like and they’ll never see you as anything but a traitor again. So you’ve got to stick to the one cat that’s going to give you even a little bit of what you wanted, no matter what, because you’ve got nowhere else to go now. And that one cat is B- Tigerstar,” Blackfoot amended. “You’re loyal to him now, and you made that choice. You can’t take it back.”

Mowgli slouched against the wall, looking suddenly defeated. “I suppose you might be right,” he said. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“That’s the spirit, kit,” Blackfoot said, and was proud to see that Mowgli managed a weak smile. “Alright, let’s get moving. We want to be back before the sun starts setting, preferably.”

He stepped back to let Jag take the lead again, and fell in step with Clawface behind the two younger cats. His fellow ShadowClan exile gave him a funny look, but said nothing more. Blackfoot steadily avoided his gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning, y'all. So, as you may have guessed, I live in the States and over the past few days violence has been escalating here. In my town, someone shot a police officer last night, and several corporate stores were set on fire. While I support the protests and these actions 100%, this makes my area suddenly a much more dangerous area to live, and I don't see things calming down anytime soon. Thus, updates might get a little more erratic or possibly cease altogether if the situation continues to worsen.
> 
> If you are able, please pick a bail fund and donate. The National Bail Fund Network Directory is a great place to start if you're not sure where to donate. Even just $5 can make a difference. Moreover, if you are American and of age, consider voting Green or PSL in November. Continuing to accept the lesser of two evils will simply never improve our country.
> 
> Finally, if you don't like that I've become openly political on this silly cat story, then I ask you to reconsider the story you've been reading. Brighter is about characters finding the strength within them to turn their backs on authoritarianism and to instead work for a better future. It was never politically neutral.


	22. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireheart reunites a Clan. Two makeshift leaders reach a compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot off the presses! This chapter is not on schedule, it's nearly double the size of most of the rest and it's 100% unedited and therefore probably full of typos, and those things are all very closely correlated. I just did not have the discipline to edit this monster, let alone to get it done before yesterday.

It had been nearly three moons since his trial, and Fireheart had spent the summer mostly hunting, staying at the periphery of ShadowClan’s minds.

The fact was, for all that his arrival had been momentous and dramatic, his personal drama of crime and innocence pretty much paled to the disease that had been tearing into ShadowClan’s ranks. Fireheart had no desire, once he had been declared innocent, to take away from these cats’ grief for their former lives and so allowed himself to fade into the background. He had taken up visiting Princess more often in Twolegplace, and in the early summer he had spent a lot of time in the nursery, which was both pleasant and easy on his bad leg. 

But once the kits’ mother died, he deferred to Tallpoppy for their care, and started spending more time in the swamp hunting with Graystripe and the apprentices and occasionally Russetfur, when she felt up to it and wasn’t at the border keeping an eye on the ever-more-frequent ThunderClan patrols.

On the bright side, ShadowClan seemed to be on the up-and-up. Though several cats had been lost over the summer, Whitethroat had recovered, and now only Nightstar and Flintfang’s sister, Fernshade, remained sick. With so few sick cats remaining, Fleetwhisker had moved them both back into the medicine den, and suggested that the warriors start work on cleaning the other side of camp.

This was a task that Fireheart had thrown himself into with relish. Along with Bouldernose and occasionally Rowanberry, he enthusiastically cleared and rebuilt the long-neglected half of camp, ignoring the hot late-summer sun beating down on his back and the oppressively loud and angry sound of cicadas screeching out for one another.

Still, the work was tiring, and boring, and Fireheart was lying in the muddy dirt for a rest one evening when Oakpaw came over, looking a little nervous.

“Can you come with Ratpaw and I to hunt tonight? Every other cat is busy,” he said.

“Where’s Graystripe?” Fireheart asked curiously.

“He said he wanted to go speak to a friend,” Oakpaw said with a shrug.

Fireheart felt taken aback for a moment, suddenly feeling as though he were right back in ThunderClan camp, asking Brackenpaw about his mentor’s whereabouts, knowing full well that Graystripe was on the RiverClan border with Silverstream. But he quickly pushed the memory down. Graystripe wasn’t stupid enough to try something like that again, not after what had happened the first time.

“Did he say who?” Fireheart said.

“No, but he headed toward Twolegplace,” Oakpaw said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. He probably didn’t see the point of the questions.

Fireheart wondered if Graystripe might have gone to see Princess. He had done it on his own once before, when Fireheart’s leg was feeling too badly for him to make the trip. It would be odd for Graystripe to do it without speaking to Fireheart first, but perhaps not entirely out of character. Maybe the gray tom had assumed that after a long day of work, Fireheart would again be too worn out and in pain to join him.

Speaking of which, Fireheart recalled Oakpaw’s original question. He stretched the toes on his bad leg - he wasn’t stiff, nor was his pain any worse than its usual background level of a low, dull buzz. He smiled at Oakpaw. “I’ll join you. Was there any place in particular you wanted to hunt?”

“Ratpaw thought we might go out by the east border. He thinks we’ve been overhunting in the swamp,” Oakpaw said enthusiastically.

Privately, Fireheart thought it might be damn near impossible for such a small Clan to overhunt a whole swamp, but he figured Ratpaw was probably only trying to assert himself and show some leadership, and there was no harm in letting him. He nodded and followed Oakpaw to collect the other apprentice, and then the three of them headed off into the forest.

When they had neared the eastern border, where the swamp edged off into a scrubby plain approaching Twolegplace, Fireheart stopped the patrol. “Don’t wander off too far,” he said. “There’s still that owl hanging around, and you two are just small enough to be on its radar. Call for help if you need me.”

Oakpaw nodded patiently, but Fireheart thought he caught Ratpaw rolling his eyes as he turned away.

It didn't weigh on his mind. Ratpaw could be kind of a little shit, but so then had been Sandstorm when she was younger, and she had turned out fine. Fireheart’s stomach turned at the thought of his friend, and of ThunderClan. He had avoided news from the border and Gathering, nervous of what might be said, but it sounded like ThunderClan was doing just fine without him, despite their apparent newfound paranoia.

The image of Sandstorm, safe, successful, still perfectly happy to think Fireheart a murderer, was oddly bittersweet. His leg twinged in pain, and Fireheart put the thought from his mind. He was here to hunt.

He tasted the air, swiveling his ears in hopes of detecting the quick heartbeat of a mouse. After a moment, he caught a wisp of shrew-scent, drifting by on the slow summer breeze, and headed toward the bush it was hiding under. After a moment, he spotted it, its frantic movements easy to discern in the darkness. 

Fireheart dropped into a ThunderClan hunting crouch, approaching the shrew with light pawsteps. It didn’t seem to catch any hint of his presence as he drew up behind it.

But instead of pausing like he’d been taught to as an apprentice, he drew forward quickly and leapt into a smooth pounce, killing the rodent with a swift bite. He scraped some dirt over it, already opening his jaws to scent his next target.

There was a soft hoot from above, and Fireheart startled. Rationally he knew he was far too big for the owl to go after him, but his instincts were screaming at him to hide, so he pushed into the undergrowth, walking just quickly enough not to feel like a coward. After a few moments of shouldering through the tall grass, he smelled the acrid, tangy scent of Thunderpath.

He hadn’t realized he’d come so close to the border. He wondered if a ThunderClan patrol might be out. Fireheart debated sliding under a bush and watching for a coming patrol, but then was hit with a feeling of deja-vu, remembering a few occasions as an apprentice when he had felt as though he was being watched on border patrol. How strange now, to be the mysterious ShadowClan warrior whose shining eyes would give ‘paws the creeps. He decided against the whole thing.

Turning to head back further into ShadowClan territory, Fireheart caught a whiff of another scent, underneath the Thunderpath. It was hard to identify - the strong, bitter smell of monsters almost outweighed it. Fireheart put his nose to the ground and followed the trail up to the edge of the path, where whatever had left it had crossed. It wasn’t prey-scent, of that he was certain. It had the salty edge of a carnivore. Could it be a threat to the Clan?

He peered out into the gloom on the other side of the Thunderpath, where the forest was thicker and darker. Nothing seemed to stare back. Whatever he had smelled, it was probably long gone, and ThunderClan’s problem now. He put it from his mind, and turned away.

—

Over the next few days, however, he found it difficult to forget about the unfamiliar scent. Something about it seemed to be beckoning him to investigate. And Fireheart was perfectly happy to pretend that beckoning call was the voice of StarClan if it meant satiating his curiousity.

So he kept track of patrol assignments and waited for a day when no cat had been sent southeast, to yawn wide in the middle of cleaning camp with Bouldernose.

The gray tom stopped rolling a ball of moss across the clearing and regarded him with some amusement. “I relate,” he said when Fireheart was finished. “Can’t wait until we’re done with this bloody mess.”

“Actually, I think I might take a rest,” Fireheart said. “I’ve been sleeping poorly the last few days.”

Bouldernose shrugged, looking nonplussed. “Have a nice nap.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Fireheart said, feeling a little guilty for leaving him alone. But when Bouldernose had turned away, he trotted quickly over the the apprentices den, and, glancing around to make sure no cat was watching, slipped behind it.

There was a hole there, sure made by generations of apprentices sneaking out of camp, but Fireheart was a bit big for it. The spiky brambles of the camp’s outer wall dragged shallow scratches along his sides, and he paused for a moment to lick the sting away. In retrospect, it wasn’t as though he couldn’t have just announced to the Clan that he’d thought he’d smelled something strange on the border and he wanted to go check it out. He was a full warrior, not an apprentice or a prisoner to be watched.

But something in him was insisting that Fireheart needed to find out the source of the strange scent on his own, with no other cat. He wasn’t sure _exactly_ why, but he needed to investigate on his own, without the full patrol that the others would surely want to send.

It didn’t take him too long to make it to the part of the border where he had first caught the scent several nights before. He glanced up and down the Thunderpath, took a deep breath to reassure himself, and raced across.

The first thing Fireheart noticed when he had crossed the border was that this stretch of land, despite being on ThunderClan’s side of the path, was not ThunderClan territory. Though technically ThunderClan claimed their back border lay at the Twolegplace, they rarely ventured very far east of camp, and this area was nearly abandoned. As it was, Fireheart couldn’t smell any sign of ThunderClan having been in this area for moons.

The second thing Fireheart noticed was that, despite the absence of _ThunderClan_ scent, there was no absence of _cat_ scent at all. It was clear that cats had been hunting here, regularly - just not Clan cats.

Moreover, that familiar feeling was still bothering him. These might be cats he had encountered before.

Fireheart stayed low to the ground, not sure exactly what he was looking for or where he was going, but knowing he wanted to avoid detection. Whoever these cats were, they might be dangerous. He followed the scent as it grew stronger, drawing near what was probably their camp. Sure enough, there was a break in the trees ahead, a small clearing just big enough to accommodate a small group.

Fireheart pressed his belly to the ground and crawled forward painstakingly slowly, not making a single sound. He pricked his ears for any stray conversations he might catch.

Something strong and warm pressed the end of his tail to the ground.

His heart leapt into his throat. Suddenly, Fireheart found it a struggle to breathe. Feeling frozen in place, he tensed, shifting into a defensive stance.

“Who are you? I don’t recognize you, but you smell of ShadowClan.” The cat that spoke sounded painfully familiar, and for a moment Fireheart could do nothing but stare wide-eyed into the bushes, trying to place the voice. But after a few seconds went by and he had not responded or moved, the other cat seemed to grow impatient and unsheathed their claws, pricking the skin of Fireheart’s tail, and he remembered his situation.

Moving slowly, he turned around to see Blackfoot and a pair of cats standing behind him. “Brokenstar’s rogues!” Fireheart gasped. That was why the scent had seemed familiar, and why its presence had made him so paranoid!

But Blackfoot snarled. “We’re not rogues,” he growled, “and we don’t belong to _any_ cat, let alone _him_.”

Taking advantage of Blackfoot’s distraction, Fireheart whipped his tail out from under the warrior’s claws, eliciting a hiss. “To answer your question, I’m Fireheart,” he said.

“I recognize you _now_ , obviously,” Blackfoot muttered.

Fireheart's ears pricked with interest. Before his exile, he had just been a young ThunderClan warrior with no real glory to his name, and now, as far as most cats knew, he was long gone from the territories. “How do you know me?” he asked.

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing. No cat can know we’re here,” Blackfoot said menacingly, standing up tall.

At the obvious implication, Fireheart felt almost frozen with anxiety, but he flattened his ears and stared the bigger warrior straight in the eye. “If you’re going to kill me, then what harm does it do to answer my question?” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

For a moment Blackfoot hesitated, regarding Fireheart. Then he growled to one of the cats behind him, “Stumpytail, you carry him.”

Blackfoot’s two companions both had the same shade of brown tabby fur, but the smaller and less scarred of the two of them came forward to grab Fireheart surprisingly gently by the scruff, while the other bounded ahead to join Blackfoot. Once the pair of older cats had pulled ahead, Stumpytail let go of Fireheart’s scruff altogether.

“You lot used to be ShadowClan, right?” Fireheart said.

Stumpytail averted his eyes, but nodded.

“Will _you_ answer my question, then?” Fireheart said. “You don’t need to try to save me from your friends or anything - I think I probably have that bit covered - but I’d like to know why he recognized me.”

“Don’t tell Blackfoot I said this, but he’s not going to kill you,” Stumpytail said quietly.

Fireheart blinked. It certainly wasn’t the answer he’d asked for, and in fact it just confused him more. These cats were the ones who had killed Spottedleaf and Lionheart, who had invaded ThunderClan camp, who had upheld Brokenstar’s regime - right? Or had he mistaken something? But no, Blackfoot he knew had been the very one to steal Frostfur’s litter, and the other brown cat - the huge, embattled tom- he thought might be Clawface.

What did these cats have to gain by not killing him?

(It was a question he needed to also find the answer to pretty quickly, because he didn’t fully trust Stumpytail’s assessment of the situation, and without knowing the answer to that question, he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out. And StarClan knew he was too outmatched to fight.)

After another few moments of walking, Stumpytail apologetically grabbed his scruff again, and they emerged into the small clearing. There were just two dens, and a rather sad-looking fresh-kill pile between their entrances. Stumpytail deposited Fireheart at Blackfoot’s feet in the meager grassy space.

“You smell of ShadowClan,” Blackfoot said unceremoniously.

“That I do,” Fireheart replied, feeling a twinge of irritation. Did these cats have some sort of born aversion to being forthcoming?

“Are you here to negotiate for them?” the larger warrior said.

Fireheart shook his head. “I’m not here to do anything,” he said truthfully. “I was just following an unfamiliar scent trail. Speaking of which, have you been hunting on ShadowClan land?”

Blackfoot’s head whipped around to stare at Stumpytail, who immediately shrank. “Only a little,” the small brown tom squeaked. “I missed it!”

“You’re very lucky the only cat who noticed you happens to be a target, or I’d personally shred you to mousedust,” Blackfoot snapped. He turned his eyes back to Fireheart, but seemed to be now addressing the taller brown warrior, who Fireheart was now nearly certain was Clawface. “Unless you see any other way around it, I think he’ll have to stay with us until His Great Eminence deigns to return.”

Fireheart did not miss the disdain with which the words ‘his great eminence’ were spoken. He stood up straight. “Who am I the target of?” he said.

“Most cats on this side of the Thunderpath, kittypet,” Blackfoot said. “But I think you know whose doing that is.”

A chill ran down Fireheart’s spine as he met the other warrior’s yellow eyes. Tigerstar’s threats echoed in his ears - _I’d like to flay you, kittypet._ Were these cats aligned with Tigerstar now? Was the whole forest? Was that why they had recognized him instantly?

And as he struggled to breathe evenly, Fireheart thought of another question - If Blackfoot was referring to Tigerstar, why wouldn’t they bring Fireheart to ThunderClan immediately?

“Why are you working for him?” Fireheart said softly.

Blackfoot scoffed. “Not like we’ve much choice, have we?”

“But what did he offer you?” Fireheart said.

“Nothing he’s actually given us,” Blackfoot said. “That’s enough questions from you, now.”

Fireheart glanced wildly around the small camp as Blackfoot turned away and headed towards one of the dens, and suddenly the whole thing clicked. Tigerstar and Brokenstar had been working together to bring down ThunderClan, but Brokenstar was an outlaw. Once the old leader died, Blackfoot and his warriors had no choice but to follow the new one - there was nowhere else that would forgive them of their crimes. And Tigerstar had known that too, and held it over their heads, using it to forever dangle what they really wanted just out of reach while they did his dirty work, and he would _never_ give them what they really wanted, which was… which was?

“I _can_ negotiate,” Fireheart said loudly, “if you’d like me to.”

Blackfoot paused, but did not turn around.

“I think you know that Tigerstar’s not going to let you in to ThunderClan,” Fireheart said, and the statement prompted Clawface to angrily dig his claws into the ground. But when no cat audibly objected, Fireheart continued, “If you want, I can be the middleman, and maybe you don’t have to _miss_ the swamps anymore. After all, I think I understand a bit what you’re all going through. More than Tigerstar _or_ ShadowClan do, anyways.”

Blackfoot turned to face him, and the expression on his face looked rather as though he were squashing down hope.

—

Fireheart was sent back to ShadowClan camp, and for a full thirty minutes, honestly considered just forgetting the whole incident and never breathing a word of the negotiations he was supposed to lead.

But he didn’t like being, even for thirty minutes, the sort of cat who broke a promise. So he spoke to Fleetwhisker.

“No,” the medicine cat said flatly.

“Why?” Fireheart said.

“You shouldn’t have even told me this. Now I have to report it at the next Gathering. It’ll start trouble.”

“But Fleetwhisker, listen to me,” Fireheart said impatiently. “I understand your position, but what else would you have them do? Rot away in the woods as rogues? Would you block them from StarClan?”

“Yes,” Fleetwhisker snapped, meeting Fireheart’s gaze. After a moment, he looked away again, staring at the pile of herbs at his feet. “No,” he admitted. “But what would you have _me_ do, Fireheart? Forgive them?”

It was a good question. Maybe they didn’t deserve forgiveness. “I don’t know,” Fireheart said softly. “But has justice been done for their crimes?”

“Yes.”

“Then any more punishment isn’t justice, it’s revenge,” Fireheart said. “Just come and speak with them. They want to be regular warriors again, I think. You’ll see that too, if you see them.”

They gathered a group - themselves, plus Whitethroat and Flintfang - and made their way out to the eastern border once more.

Fireheart led the patrol across the Thunderpath and into the wetlands where the rogues were situated, trying to look a little more confident than he felt. After all, what if there were many more rogues than he had seen, and they were sorely outnumbered? What if Blackfoot had reported their suspicions to Tigerstar and planned an ambush? None of the scenarios racing through his mind seemed particularly likely, but he couldn’t stop thinking of them all the same.

But there were no surprise attacks or even any surprising encounters. They approached the entrance of the rogue warriors’ camp, which was guarded by a single fluffy blue torbie. Fireheart glanced back at the patrol, but Fleetwhisker, who looked slightly nauseous, gave him a gesture to go ahead.

He approached the cat alone, dipping his head. “I’m Fireheart. Blackfoot sent me to… negotiate,” he said.

When he looked up, the cat was eyeing him impassively. “I know,” she said. Fireheart waited a moment for her to introduce herself or tell him where Blackfoot was, but after a moment it became clear that she was about as forthcoming as the rest of the rogue warriors. He stared at her in silence, willing her to say something else, but she only blinked slow. Something about her soft yellow eyes sent a chill down his spine.

“It’s good to meet you,” Fireheart muttered irritably. “Can we come in, then?”

She nodded over his shoulder. “It looks like those three aren’t too eager.”

Fireheart glanced over his shoulder again. Sure enough, not one of his companions looked much like they wanted to be there - Fleetwhisker looked more sick by the second, Whitethroat’s eyes were wide, and Flintfang was staring resolutely at the ground.

Fireheart sighed. “They aren’t.”

The molly blinked. “I’m part of the problem,” she rasped. “I’ll let Blackfoot know you’re here, and then I’ll go. Tell Fleetwhisker that.”

Fireheart’s brow furrowed, and he was left blinking in confusion as the unfamiliar cat disappeared into the camp behind her. The rest of the patrol approached behind him, quiet. “She said she’ll go, Fleetwhisker. Does that mean anything to you?” he said.

The medicine cat nodded, so barely that Fireheart might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it. “She doesn’t have to,” Fleetwhisker said. “It’s her right to be here.”

At once, Fireheart realized something was going on here which every other cat understood, and which he did not. For the first time, he wondered if perhaps he had stuck his nose into a beehive. It wasn’t really his place to try to bring together two broken halves of a Clan he wasn’t a part of, especially when he didn’t really know what either side had done to the other. Maybe the damage was too deep to heal. It had been irresponsible of him to assume his understanding of both sides alone could fix the issue.

The torbie reappeared with Blackfoot in tow. “I’ll go,” she repeated, moving to duck away.

“Wait,” Fireheart said. “I think it’s best that you all stay. You each deserve a say in your fate.”

The molly’s ears flattened, and she glanced at Fleetwhisker, but when he said nothing, she stepped back, standing at Blackfoot’s side.

The former ShadowClan deputy looked over the patrol. After a few moments of silence, he flicked his tail. “Come on then,” he said, and led the way into the rogue warriors’ makeshift camp.

Four rogues were sitting in a loose row on the back edge of camp, six once Blackfoot and the molly had taken their places among them. Fireheart recognized them all from their attacks on ThunderClan territory, but knew only Blackfoot, Clawface, and Stumpytail by name. Beside him, Flintfang swallowed hard, his eyes traveling over the whole of the line. Once again, Fireheart felt stupid. These were ShadowClan’s former Clanmates, and they had stopped being so because they had betrayed the Clan. These negotiations had no chance of going well.

But Fleetwhisker stepped forward, his legs visibly shaking. Fireheart pressed his tail reassuringly against the medicine cat’s side as he spoke. “Fireheart has told us he encountered you, and you indicated you might want to rejoin our Clan,” Fleetwhisker said.

Blackfoot nodded.

“Then tell us why,” Fleetwhisker managed through bared teeth, “in _StarClan’s name_ we should ever forgive you.”

Fireheart wondered if this would be the correct moment to panic.

Whitethroat seemed mostly to have calmed, but Fleetwhisker was still shaking, rage in his eyes. Flintfang was staring at the ground so intensely that Fireheart might have checked for something there if he wasn’t certain there was nothing. And the rogues, for their part, all looked to some degree upset, except for the two toms Fireheart didn’t recognize.

Blackfoot sighed. “I know you’re asking as much for the Clan as for yourselves,” he said. Was Fireheart mistaken, or did the former deputy glance at Flintfang? “It might help to know that I’m not sure if I can forgive myself. I believed Brokenstar. I believed everything he said, up until I didn't, and by then it was too late. That's all I can say to my actions.

“But I can speak for all of us when I say that we want to be a part of ShadowClan again, and that we’re no longer loyal to anything but the warrior code,” Blackfoot continued.

Clawface growled softly, the hair on his hackles rising up. Alarmed, Fireheart stood, drawing the gaze of the unruly warrior. He held Clawface’s yellow gaze, fluffing out his own fur and drawing his own claws. He would not stand for violence, not now. Cowed, Clawface re-sheathed his claws.

Beside Fireheart, Flintfang had finally looked up. “If you could go back, you would change things?” he said.

“All of it,” Blackfoot said.

Flintfang looked over at Fireheart and Fleetwhisker. “I believe him,” he said steadily. “No cat earns forgiveness in a day, but we ought to give them the chance. StarClan knows we have all had to forgive ourselves before.”

Once more, Fireheart got the sense that something was being referenced that he had not been privy to, but he dipped his head. Fleetwhisker nodded as well, and turned back to the rogues.

“Then I think we would be able to accept you back into the Clan, on a provisional basis,” Fleetwhisker said. “If we were to discover any sign of disloyalty, or any code-breaking, there would be no punishment or forgiveness, only immediate exile. I think that’s fair.”

The strange expression Fireheart had seen once before returned to Blackfoot’s face- the expression of hope, squashed in the vain attempt to maintain a neutral expression. “I agree. On behalf of all of us, I accept.”

Clawface sprang to his feet again, and this time, Fireheart leaping up to match him was not enough to quell his rage. The huge brown tom spit, “You traitor! Does it really take so little for you to abandon our cause?”

Blackfoot met Clawface’s gaze levelly. “ _I_ want to rejoin my Clan. _You_ may do whatever you like.”

Clawface’s eyes flashed with wrath. “ShadowClan is no Clan of mine! They abandoned us as soon as they had the chance,” he said. “You know that StarClan put our paws on this path for a reason! I will follow the only cat that knows _true_ strength, Blackfoot, and _you_ will live to regret this choice.”

He turned and stormed across the clearing to the edge of camp, then stopped and looked back, staring at Stumpytail, who shrank under the older cat’s menacing gaze. “Come on, son. We have no business left here.”

Stumpytail hesitated. “I… I can’t do that, Dad,” he said. “I want to go back, too.”

“You little weakling,” Clawface growled. “I don’t know why I ever thought you were so different from your ridiculous mother.”

The younger brown tom’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a bully, Dad. I don’t care what you have to say anymore,” he said, his voice shaking.

Clawface’s eyes roved wildly over the rogues. “So none of you will join me? Are you all traitors and cowards?”

Fireheart looked over the rogue warriors. None of them seemed as though they were particularly eager to follow Clawface, except one, a red-brown tom Fireheart didn’t recognize by name.

“You have offered me nothing Tigerstar hasn’t,” he said to the ShadowClan patrol, “and your so-called Clan is weaker than any I’ve seen before.” Turning to his campmates and sneering, he added, “You’re cowards, returning to what’s comfortable, and I’ve lived with your fear-stink on my coat for too long.”

He stood, and went to Clawface’s side. They each looked around the camp once more, and when it became clear no more cats were joining them, they headed into the woods.

Blackfoot stared after them, nodding slowly. “Well, the rest of us shall accept your offer,” he said to Fleetwhisker.

“Wait,” the molly said. “Mowgli hasn't spoken.” Turning to the small black tom that Fireheart hadn’t recognized, she continued, “You aren’t ShadowClan by birth. If you want to return to Twolegplace again, no cat will blame you.”

Mowgli shifted his weight, blinking rapidly. For a moment, he reminded Fireheart of Ravenpaw - but not the confident Ravenpaw who now resided at the barn. No, he seemed similar to Ravenpaw as he had been in ThunderClan, a nervous apprentice bullied by his mentor.

“No, I got into this whole mess because I wanted to try Clan life,” he said, smiling weakly. “I never had that chance before. I’d still like to give it a shot.”

The molly nodded, seemingly satisfied. She turned back to the ShadowClan patrol. “Then we’ll all be happy to take your offer. If you’ll have us, brother,” she added.

She was looking at Fleetwhisker, and Fireheart once again had the realization that the situation was much deeper than he realized - though this time, he understood it. This was Fleetwhisker’s traitorous sister, and now, his only surviving family. No wonder she had offered to leave. Now, her yellow eyes were questioning, and Fireheart knew she wasn’t just asking Fleetwhisker for confirmation of his offer to the rogues - she was asking for forgiveness.

Fleetwhisker twitched his whiskers impassively. “Very well,” he said, a non-answer. “Come along, then.” The medicine cat turned away, and led the newly-doubled patrol out of the clearing.

Fireheart stood in place, allowing the other ShadowClan cats and most of Brokenstar’s former followers to pass by him so he could take up the rear of the group. He felt a little more hopeful now that the rift in ShadowClan could heal. Perhaps not every cat would forgive one another, but perhaps some would. The rogues being allowed to return was surely a step in the right direction.

Still, he felt uncertain of the Clan’s future and whether he’d done the right thing - and judging by her wistful gaze as she stared after the patrol, so, too did the torbie molly.

“Are you bringing up the rear with me?” Fireheart said in as friendly a tone as he could manage. She nodded mutely, and fell into step with him. They kept a few paces behind the rest of the patrol.

“What’s your name?” Fireheart asked. “You never said.” _Also,_ he added to himself, _if you’re going to be joining us I can’t just keep calling you ‘that torbie molly.’_

His question seemed to jolt her out of her regretful state, and she gave him a suspicious glance. “Tangleburr,” she said, and sped up her pace to join Stumpytail, leaving Fireheart at the rear.

It wasn’t much, he thought, but he wanted to believe it was a good start.


	23. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night of the full moon, Sandstorm asks some questions, and is asked some in return.
> 
> Warning: in this chapter, female characters are harassed and heavily pressured over family planning choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We back on that Saturday chapter grind bois
> 
> A lot has happened in ThunderClan over the time skip, so if anything is unclear, please LMK so I can amend it!

Sandstorm backed into the den, tugging the pile of gathered moss in with her. On the other side of the pile, Brackenfur was pushing gently with his nose, careful not to get any sand or grit onto the pristine bedding. After a few moments, the pile was situated in the center of the nursery, and Brackenfur came to stand beside her. They both stood, surveying the den.

“You’d all better go out to play,” Brackenfur said to Willowpelt’s kits, who were looking at him with wide eyes from over the edge of their nest.

Willowpelt swept her tail over them and gave Brackenfur a raised eyebrow. “They’re a bit young to go out on their own,” she said, “but some time in the sun will do us good. Frostfur, Brindleface, can you help me carry them?”

Frostfur nodded and stood, her swollen belly hanging low, but Brindleface shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve got to get my own.” With a soft mouth, she picked up the smaller of her two kits, both black tabby mollies.

Sandstorm nudged Brackenfur. “Maybe you could help them carry the kits out?” she murmured.

Brackenfur jumped. “Right! Here, Mom, let me take that,” he said, rushing forward to take one of Willowpelt’s toms out of Frostfur’s mouth. Once each kit was accounted for, the parade of queens and kits and Brackenfur headed out the door of the nursery, leaving Sandstorm alone.

She held her breath and closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the peace and silence she found. In recent moons, ThunderClan had become a chaotic place.

Once she had visited the barn, she had thought about trying to contact a RiverClan cat, to see if she could learn the truth of Redtail and Oakheart’s deaths. But she wasn’t invited to any Gatherings, and the longer she sat on Ravenpaw’s claims, the more outlandish they’d seemed. That night in the barn, she had been nearly delirious with hunger and exhaustion, and overwhelmed by the revelation that Ravenpaw was alive at all. She would have believed anything at that moment, even if Ravenpaw had told her that _she_ was her father’s killer.

And maybe it was all true, but if it was, what issue was that? Tigerstar was a fine leader for the Clan, and no cat had gone hungry, even if he had been doing some strange things recently. 

She was, possibly, ever so slightly in denial, but really she had very little evidence to go on at all, and her father’s so-called spirit hadn’t exactly shown up to confirm Ravenpaw’s wild accusations. And so after her trip to the barn, with just enough conscious choice to make her feel guilty, she had let the whole thing go.

Sandstorm reopened her eyes, sweeping her gaze over the den. A recent addition built by Dustpelt and Brackenfur had made it easily the largest den in the camp, especially now that the warrior’s den had been downsized. It was nice and spacious, but unfortunately, this made replacing the moss a momentous task. And since Fernpaw was busy doing a hunting assessment with Dustpelt today, it had been up to Sandstorm and Brackenfur to do the work.

Brackenfur slipped back into the den, looking pleased with himself. Sandstorm flicked her ears in acknowledgment. “You like Willowpelt’s kits, don’t you? Hoping for an apprentice soon?” she asked.

The golden-brown tom looked away bashfully. “Maybe. I was really hoping to mentor Snowpaw. I was having a lot of fun working with him and Speckletail on that sign language.”

Sandstorm knew Speckletail and Brackenfur had both been deeply disappointed that Tigerstar had assigned the deaf kit to the medicine den, but privately, she thought it might be a good call. She couldn’t think of any deaf cats except for One-eye, and she couldn’t image trying to give orders to the old molly, let alone communicate with her on a battle patrol. But she didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead, trotting over to one of the nests and beginning to pull out the moss, she said, “Don’t worry, you’ll be a mentor soon enough. Tigerstar likes you.”

Brackenfur looked uneasy. “Maybe, but I’m here in the ravine, aren’t I?”

She didn’t have much to say to that.

Only a few weeks after the big storm, Tigerstar had assigned Darkstripe, Brightclaw, and Dustpelt to work on a new, secretive project in the hollow on the west side of the territory, near the Owl Tree. Once it was complete, he revealed to the Clan that they would be splitting into two camps. Along with his mate, deputy, and ‘inner ring,’ the leader had absconded to the second camp, leaving his less-favored warriors to guard the elders and queens in the ravine.

The only sign that Tigerstar was their leader at all was Brightclaw, who he had ordered to act as his proxy in the ravine camp. She announced patrol assignments in the morning, and spent most of her days watching over them. Though she wasn’t certain, Sandstorm suspected that Brightclaw visited the other camp in the evenings to report the ravine’s goings-on to Tigerstar. And in lieu of any other cat to sleep there, Brightclaw had taken to resting in the crack in the Highrock, where Bluestar had once kept her nest.

It wasn’t something Sandstorm liked much, but no other cat seemed to mind, and she wasn’t part of the Clan leadership, so what did she know.

“You’ll go west soon enough,” Sandstorm said to Brackenfur, trying to sound reassuring. “You’re dependable. Tigerstar will see that. And you're Brightclaw and Cinderpelt’s littermate - they’ll recommend you.”

Brackenfur spared a moment in moving his moss to cast her a doubtful glance, but said nothing.

The conversation ended, Sandstorm focused all her energies on moving moss. With two cats working, they were able to get all the old stuff out of the den fairly quickly. Once it was all out, Brackenfur started fashioning the new nests, and Sandstorm began to roll up the discarded stuff into a ball she could easily roll out of the camp.

Standing just outside the nursery entrance, she was not far from where the queens had gathered in a loose circle to sunbathe. Frostfur lifted her head to watch Sandstorm work. After a few moments she said, “Do you think you’ll be joining us soon?”

Sandstorm did her best not to wrinkle her nose. “I don’t think so,” she said lightly.

Frostfur gave her a look of half confusion and half doubt, but Sandstorm brushed it aside.

Sure, she had reached an age where many mollies began to think about having their first litter, but Sandstorm had plenty of time for that if she ever wanted to try it, and for now, she wanted to focus on serving her Clan.

And yes, maybe Runningwind and Brindleface weren’t wrong to suspect, as they had each suggested to her, that Dustpelt had been kept in the ravine camp not because he wasn’t part of the inner ring but because Tigerstar wanted them to pair up.

But Dustpelt was her friend, practically her littermate. It was out of the question.

She gave the moss-ball an experimental roll and began to push it out of camp.

It rolled well, but when she was partway through the gorse tunnel, she was blocked by Brightclaw coming down the tunnel from the other side. “Excuse me,” Sandstorm muttered, waiting for the ginger-and-white molly to step aside.

“Where are you headed?” Brightclaw said. Her tone was friendly, but pointed.

“Out,” Sandstorm said simply. “I’m just tossing this old bedding somewhere.”

“I think I’d better come with you,” Brightclaw said.

Sandstorm lifted her head to look directly at her. “Don’t you think we oughtn’t leave all the elders and kits alone with just Brackenfur?” she said.

Brightclaw narrowed her eyes. “If something happens, I’m sure the queens can help him handle it,” she replied.

With nothing left to say, Sandstorm rolled her moss ball past the enforcer, as cats had started calling Brightclaw. She felt a prick of irritation as she headed into the forest with Brightclaw only half a pace behind. It wasn’t like she was rushing off to tell the other Clans ThunderClan secrets - she really _was_ just discarding moss. But it was nearly impossible to go out into the forest on one’s own these days, between Brightclaw’s nosiness and the near-constant patrols scouring every inch of the territory for signs of the Clan’s supposed ‘enemies.’ 

She had been relieved, that spring, when it seemed that her duties were easing up - but then suddenly, _every_ cat had been assigned three patrols a day, and then an impossible four.

Sure, maybe the Clan was safer now, but Sandstorm wondered if she’d sat for more than five minutes in the last few moons. Perhaps the queens were doing something right.

They headed back into camp, and Sandstorm spotted Brackenfur coming out of the nursery and greeting the queens - he must have finished building the new nests already. She turned to Brightclaw. “It looks like the nursery’s done. Do you want me to work on anything else between now and my afternoon patrol?”

“Scratch that patrol,” Brightclaw said, “And the evening one, too. We’re going to the Gathering tonight.”

Sandstorm dipped her head, not bothering to hide a smile, and let the enforcer retreat to her den. Usually only a couple of the ravine cats came to Gatherings. Presumably, most of the Owl Tree camp went every moon - not that Sandstorm would have known, since she hadn’t attended a Gathering since before the split.

Gatherings weren’t Sandstorm’s favorite thing in the world, but right now, the prospect of getting a rest and a break from her routine sounded wonderful. She headed over to the patch of sunlight outside the nursery where the queens and Brackenfur had gathered. Frostfur had fallen asleep, snoring gently, and Brindleface would have looked almost ready to doze off herself if her tail wasn’t pressing her daughters tight to her side. Sandstorm laid down beside Willowpelt, who was watching Brackenfur as he showed her litter a hunting crouch.

Willowpelt glanced at her, but said nothing, and Sandstorm was glad not to have to have the conversation about her future again. She put her head on her paws and watched Brackenfur’s lesson to the kits. The little calico in particular seemed eager to stop learning and start playing, and whenever Brackenfur came over to correct her crouch, she rolled over, batting at his paw. Sandstorm suppressed a purr of laughter.

Yellowfang approached, carrying a bundle of herbs, and spat them on the ground at Sandstorm’s feet. However, she did not greet Sandstorm, but looked at Brindleface and said without preface, “Are they breathing all right?”

“Oh, yes,” Brindleface said. She looked pleased, but her tight hold on her kits didn’t waver. “And Waspkit has stopped sneezing, which was probably nothing, I just didn’t want to take the chance.”

“I understand,” Yellowfang rasped. “Hard not to think about your first litter. Frostfur - is Frostfur awake?”

She was asking the general area, but Willowpelt answered. “No. But I don’t think she’ll mind if you wake her.”

“No, I’m too old to get my pelt scratched off by a tired queen,” Yellowfang grumbled. “What a waste. I’ll have to come back in a few hours. This was so much easier when some bright young thing was around,” she added, picking her bundle of herbs back up. “Tigerstar could at least have left me Snowpaw, if not Cinderpelt.”

Brindleface looked uneasy. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

“Doubtful,” Yellowfang snorted. She turned, and her gaze landed on Sandstorm. “Will you be joining these mollies in the nursery soon, young lady?”

Sandstorm bit back an irritated hiss. She was tired of this subject. “No, thank you,” she said as politely as she could manage.

She stood and headed towards the warriors’ den, determined to get a moment of peace. Yellowfang called after her, “Good. I don't need any more cats to look after.”

There was something strange in the old molly’s voice that might have given Sandstorm pause if she were calmer, but she was so annoyed that she simply snapped over her shoulder, “Lucky for you, you won’t be getting any.” She stalked into the warriors’ den and sunk into her nest, relieved to find no other cat was about. Why was everyone so concerned with her future all of a sudden?

—

Once the sun had started to set, Brightclaw and Sandstorm set out from the ravine to join the rest of the Gathering patrol. By the route Brightclaw was setting, Sandstorm could see that they weren’t headed toward the Owl Tree camp, but likely towards an already-decided meeting place along the stream. She had not yet seen the Owl Tree camp - she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It would feel too foreign, too alien. With the Clan’s sudden influx of kits, she couldn’t disagree with the decision to split into two camps, but nothing would ever feel quite like home to her except for the ravine.

The two mollies traveled in silence. Sandstorm didn’t dare try to make casual conversation with Brightclaw - no cat really did, now, too afraid she would report their personal business to Tigerstar. Even Frostfur, Brightclaw’s own mother, cringed away from her. And Brightclaw, for her part, didn’t seem especially bothered by it. She maintained the silence with a smug aloofness that seemed to say, _I’m better than you, and we both know it_.

Her head was up her ass, as far as Sandstorm was concerned, but she was happy with the silence too.

As they approached the stream, Sandstorm picked up the familiar scent of cats she hadn’t spoken much with in ages. She sped up her pace, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Brightclaw as they burst into the clearing where the rest of the Gathering patrol was milling about.

Tigerstar stood at the front of the clearing, his eyes dark with impatience, and Darkstripe and Goldenflower sat at his sides. A few paces away, Cinderpelt and Snowpaw sat facing one another. Cinderpelt was speaking, but also moving her forepaws in a way Sandstorm had come to recognize as the communication method Speckletail and Brackenfur had invented. And in a small circle in the center of the clearing, Whitestorm, Longtail, Swiftstrike, Cloudpaw, and Ashpaw all sat waiting.

Brightclaw lifted her chin and went to join Tigerstar, but Sandstorm ignored her. Instead, she rushed over to the group of warriors. “Whitestorm!” she exclaimed happily. 

Whitestorm nodded in greeting, but he didn’t look quite as excited as she felt. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “I know you don’t spend much time in the nursery, Sandstorm, but how are my kits doing?”

“They seem fine to me. Brackenfur’s taken an interest in them - I think he wants to mentor one,” Sandstorm said, and Whitestorm looked pleased.

Longtail reached out and cuffed her over the ear. “Is it boring, back in the ravine with all those elders and kits?” he said, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“I’ll take boring over sleeping in range of an owl’s nest,” Sandstorm teased. She turned to the rest of the group, and nodded greeting to Ashpaw and Swiftstrike. “Cloudpaw,” she said, “have you been doing all right? I haven’t spoken to you in ages.”

The once small and fluffy white tom had grown significantly over the summer, and was now almost as big as Swiftstrike. He lifted his chin. “We were on the same patrol just two days ago, Sandstorm,” he said cooly.

Sandstorm narrowed her eyes. That was true, but Tigerstar discouraged socializing on patrols - he wanted all his warriors to focus their full energy on providing for the Clan and keeping a lookout for their enemies, he said. Longtail was the only one of the patrol leaders who was willing to bend this rule, and Sandstorm rarely seemed to be assigned to his patrols.

“You’re fine, then,” Sandstorm said, holding back a more biting retort.

Just then, Tigerstar finished speaking with Brightclaw and lifted his tail, signaling the group that it was time to leave. Sandstorm allowed most of the Owl Tree warriors to filter past her, hoping to fall into step with Cloudpaw and ask him if he was really all right. But the white apprentice bounded up to the front of the group, leaving her behind.

Instead, Tigerstar gave Brightclaw a nod, and the enforcer took a position at the front of the patrol. He then fell into step beside Sandstorm.

She felt slightly as though bugs were crawling under her skin. Tigerstar had made her nervous since the beginning of his leadership, but being in his close proximity for the first time in moons seemed to have increased the effect tenfold. She wondered if it would be too rude to speed up, but something told her Tigerstar wanted to talk to her, and he would get his way no matter how she avoided it.

“Will you walk with me, Sandstorm?” Tigerstar purred.

“Of course,” she said, dipping her head.

“Keep up,” he replied. With that, he sped up his pace into a run. Surprised, Sandstorm dashed after him, careful to stay a step behind. They quickly left the patrol in the dust, flashing over the stream in one bound and racing onward into the forest just east of Fourtrees. Once the patrol was several minutes behind them, Tigerstar stopped abruptly, and Sandstorm skidded to a stop in front of him.

He blinked at her owlishly, then opened his mouth, revealing his great fangs, and tasted the air. “I only need a moment, my dear,” he said. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Why would I be?” Sandstorm said, aware that her swishing tail was betraying her.

Tigerstar gave her a dry look, but didn’t embarrass her further by pressing the issue. Instead he said, “You want to do right by your Clan, don’t you, Sandstorm?”

“Of course,” she said.

The ThunderClan leader nodded, looking satisfied. “Allow me to put this delicately. Our Clan needs more kits,” he said.

Sandstorm tensed. Him too?

Apparently mistaking her movement for continued nervousness, Tigerstar switched his tone to one that was probably meant to be soothing. “It’s a molly’s most sacred duty to her Clan. New kits, raised by strong and wise mothers, mean more warriors to hold back our enemies. Without that, a Clan would be nothing. Don’t you agree, Sandstorm?”

Her voice tight, Sandstorm said, “And who would you recommend sire my litter?”

Tigerstar smirked. “Why else would I leave Dustpelt in the ravine camp, dear?”

So Runningwind and Brindleface were _right_. Sandstorm’s whiskers trembled with anger. “I think I can decide when or if I want to have kits,” she said.

“Oh, yes, I wouldn’t want to pressure you,” Tigerstar said. “I just want to ensure our Clan’s future. That’s what this is about. In fact, any cat who _doesn’t_ want to ensure our Clan’s future could almost be considered a traitor - isn’t that right, Sandstorm?”

He leaned close to her, his amber eyes cold and calculating.

Sandstorm was trembling, with fear or rage or both. Her mouth opened and closed, again and again. She had no idea what to say.

Behind them, the sound rose of the Gathering patrol crashing through the undergrowth. Tigerstar laid his tail over her shoulders. “I’m glad we could have this little chat,” he purred.

When the patrol reached them, he shooed Brightclaw aside and took her position at the head of the patrol, leaving Sandstorm behind.

She felt frozen with shock. Whitestorm broke away from the patrol and sniffed her, then nosed her to her feet and guided her to the back of the patrol. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” Sandstorm said, with less bite than she’d intended. She glanced at her former mentor out of the corner of her eye. He looked worried about her, but also not unknowing. It occurred to her that perhaps he or Willowpelt had had a similar chat with Tigerstar, a demand for more kits even though their first litter had not yet reached three moons. Suddenly, Sandstorm felt cold.

“Did he talk to you, too?” she murmured, not daring to look at him.

“Willowpelt,” Whitestorm whispered.

Sandstorm felt as though she’d slipped through ice into deep, dark water. She turned her head to stare at her mentor. “About kits?” she confirmed.

Whitestorm gave her a long, mournful look. “I don’t think we should be talking about this,” he murmured.

Overwhelmed, Sandstorm stared at him with wide eyes, then sped up, racing through the patrol until she had arrived at Cinderpelt’s side. The medicine cat gave her a puzzled glance, but had the good sense to stay quiet, focusing on leading Snowpaw through the dark. 

When they arrived at Fourtrees, Longtail approached Sandstorm, Swiftstrike trailing behind. “Do you want to join us?” Longtail said. “Swiftstrike and I have been speaking with a couple WindClan cats the past few Gatherings. I think you’d like them.”

“I’ll be fine on my own, thanks,” Sandstorm said. Longtail gave her a confused look as he left, but she didn’t bother explaining. She needed not to speak to her Clan right now. She needed not to _think_ about her Clan right now. 

How long had this been going on, Sandstorm wondered, and how far did it go? Was it the reason for Brindleface’s sudden pairing with Runningwind? Was it why Frostfur had suddenly chosen to have another litter despite the death of her first mate, Lionheart? The hair on Sandstorm’s spine rose. Was it why Tigerstar had put her and Mousefur, the last two mollies that were in a position to have kits soon, in separate camps? Was he isolating each of them to make it easier to pressure them into motherhood?

A tail brushed along Sandstorm’s side. “Hey there,” an unfamiliar voice purred. “Breathe.”

Sandstorm obeyed, gulping the cool air of a nice summer night. She turned to face the new cat. It was a dappled tortoiseshell-and-white molly, with soft amber eyes. “Sorry,” Sandstorm said.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” the unfamiliar molly said. “Hey, I think I know you. Sandstorm, right?”

Sandstorm nodded. She gave the unfamiliar molly a closer look, but then squinted apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t recognize you.”

“It’s all right. I became a queen pretty soon after becoming a warrior, so I’d bet most cats don’t know me,” the molly said good-naturedly. “I’m Mosspelt, of RiverClan.”

“How do you know me, then?” Sandstorm said curiously. She still wasn’t much in a mood to talk, but this conversation with Mosspelt felt easier, more normal than any she could possibly have with her Clanmates right now.

Mosspelt shrugged. “I’m good at faces,” she said. “And you lot patrol pretty often.”

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Sandstorm said.

Mosspelt glanced up at the Great Rock, where the leaders were exchanging a few quiet words. “I bet they’ll start here in a few moments. Do you want to find someplace better to sit?”

Sandstorm let the RiverClan molly lead her to a spot closer to the center of Fourtrees. Cats pressed in on them on either side, as everyone gathered to get better seats, but curiously, none of Mosspelt’s Clanmates tried to join them.

“You said you became a queen soon after earning your warrior name?” Sandstorm asked. The last thing she wanted to talk about right now was nursery life, but it felt impolite not to ask, so when Mosspelt nodded she added, “What are your kits’ names?”

“Featherkit and Stormkit,” Mosspelt said proudly. At Sandstorm’s widened eyes, she added, “Yes, the half-ThunderClan ones. My birth kits were stillborn, so I took in Silverstream’s. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry about how that whole situation landed.”

“I think Tigerstar might be, too, now,” Sandstorm murmured, glancing up at the tom’s dark shape on the Great Rock above. Would he have let half-Clan kits go now? Or would his disgust for the circumstances of their birth outweigh his apparent desperation for growth?

The announcements began, but Sandstorm could hardly pay attention. She found she was too agitated by her earlier conversation with Tigerstar, and all its implications. She tapped her hind feet against the ground, barely managing to listen to each leader’s words. They all felt irrelevant and stupid in the face of her far more immediate problems. Who cared if ShadowClan had sent their medicine cat to speak again? Who cared if WindClan was having trouble with the dogs that lived at the farm? Sandstorm’s life was in much worse shape.

She blinked. The starlight above her seemed unusually bright.

Careful not to turn her head and make Mosspelt think she was staring, she glanced over to the RiverClan cat’s other side. There, wreathed in a gentle glow, sat her father’s spirit.

Sandstorm held herself back from leaping at him joyfully. She hadn’t seen Redtail in moons, and the thought that he had returned to help her get out of this mess was more of a relief than any of the comfort Whitestorm or Mosspelt had tried to offer her. But if she acknowledged him, the whole of Fourtrees would notice and probably think she’d gone insane.

As she watched, Redtail touched his nose to Mosspelt’s ear and gave her a meaningful look. Then he glanced up at Tigerstar’s imposing form at the top of the Great Rock, and vanished.

Sandstorm thought she understood what he meant.

She had been wrong to dismiss Ravenpaw’s claims. She had been wrong to go home as though nothing had happened. Deep inside, she knew that Tigerstar wasn’t really a good leader for the Clan - this night had only proven that.

Last spring, when Sandstorm had seen her father’s spirit for the first time, Redtail had told her she was ThunderClan’s last hope. At the time, she could never have imagined that the danger she needed to stand against was their own leader. But she didn’t have time for doubt anymore. 

If she didn’t do this, no cat would.

When the leaders were finished speaking, she touched her tail-tip to Mosspelt’s shoulder, a friendly but distant gesture. “This is going to sound strange, but I have a question,” Sandstorm said.

“That doesn’t sound strange at all to me,” Mosspelt replied. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at her own joke. “Ask away.”

“Your Clan’s last deputy, Oakheart… how did he die?” Sandstorm said.

Mosspelt gave her a quizzical look, but Sandstorm offered no more information. Finally, Mosspelt said, “Well, it was really sad… he was caught under a rockfall in the middle of a border scuffle at Sunningrocks. But wouldn’t you know that? It was a battle with your Clan.”

“It's a long story,” Sandstorm said. “I think Darkstripe is signaling us to leave. Thank you, Mosspelt.”

She had all the proof, now, that Tigerstar really had killed her father. And Bluestar, too, and pinned it all on other cats like a slippery adder. But if she were to go before the Clan with her claims, it would be all too easy for Tigerstar to discredit her. To claim she’d been working with the enemy, visiting Fireheart and Graystripe, planning to bring ThunderClan down from the inside. She couldn’t just put all the information in the open and expect it to fix everything. She had to be patient.

And so, on the walk home from the Gathering, staying several paces behind the rest of her patrol, Sandstorm began to think up a plan.


	24. Tigerstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tigerstar visits the sandy hollow. History is slightly rewritten. Cloudpaw wins a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I know I just got on a regular chapter schedule again but that might get thrown off in the coming weeks, as I had to register for summer classes VERY unexpectedly :(

In the new camp, Tigerstar had insisted that the medicine den be located somewhere easier to access. His broad shoulders and large frame had made squeezing into the medicine den at the ravine nearly impossible, and now that there was a chance to rectify that problem, he had insisted that the thing be large enough to accommodate him. It had delayed the camp’s finishing by nearly a week, but he found that his demands were well worth their time cost, especially since he was now using the medicine den so much.

For her part, Cinderpelt had taken advantage of the space. With no mentor peeking over her shoulder and no unspoken old traditions to uphold, the medicine cat had organized things admirably.

In the half of the den built over dirt ground, three nests lay, pristine and never-used, waiting for the first overnight patient. Just near the entrance, a fourth, smaller nest sat looking much messier - this was where Snowpaw slept.

In the back of the den, the dogwood shrub which made up the medicine den had been extended over a large, flat shale stone that was embedded firmly in the ground. Where the edge of this stone met dirt, there were three entrances to some long-abandoned burrow belonging to mice or something similar - Cinderpelt had stored her herbs here. Finally, atop the stone, there was a small pool of water collected in a dip, and Cinderpelt’s own nest - where she now lay, looking at Tigerstar suspiciously.

He bristled defensively. “Your poppy seeds didn’t work.”

Cinderpelt’s blue eyes flashed with irritation. “I shouldn’t have given you any at all. Fall will be here soon, and then I’m sure I’ll be sorry for all the poppy I’ve wasted on you.”

“You’re a medicine cat,” Tigerstar growled. “I don’t care if you do it by stuffing me full of herbs, or by communing with StarClan, but you _must_ have the ability to make these dreams stop.”

Bluestar had not ceased stalking him in his dreams, and her ever-more-frequent appearances in the corners of his vision in the waking world were making Tigerstar feel more paranoid than ever. He swished his tail, trying to shake the feeling of eyes on his back.

Cinderpelt wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry. There’s not a lot I can do for bad dreams,” she said.

“ _Shhh!_ ” Tigerstar hissed, his eyes widening. He pricked his ears to listen if any cat was standing outside, but it seemed they were the only two in earshot. He shot Cinderpelt a glare. “No cat else need know about this. Not even your little assistant.”

“He has a name,” Cinderpelt retorted. She stretched and stood, limping over to the pool of water to take a few laps. When she looked at him again, it was with soft eyes. “Have you been feeling especially stressed lately? Sometimes when I’ve been feeling a lot of tension and anxiety, I have dreams that worry me.”

Tigerstar snorted. Was that a serious suggestion? “I am a warrior whose name is honored in all four Clans,” Tigerstar said. “StarClan bestowed me with nine lives themselves. I could not be defeated by _worry_.”

Cinderpelt flicked an ear. “You look very tense.”

He forced himself to relax his muscles and stop swishing his tail. “No I don’t,” he argued. “This is a real problem, and it’s your job to fix it. Otherwise, what is the point of you?”

The young medicine cat smirked. “I’m less convenient than you’d hoped, aren’t I?” she said.

Tigerstar narrowed his eyes, unable now to stop his tail from swishing back and forth again. He knew that she suspected he had pressured Yellowfang to speed up her training, and she knew that he knew that. But neither of them had spoken of the situation openly, only in allusions. As inconvenient as the little cripple had made herself, as irritating as she seemed determined to be, she was still far more trustworthy than the old ShadowClan traitor.

Maybe one of Brindleface’s or Frostfur’s new litters would show an aptitude for medicine, and a loyalty to the Clan that was actually appropriate for such an important role. Or perhaps he could cajole an already-trained warrior into taking up the role, so that they wouldn’t be influenced by the medicine cats’ fanciful ideas of world peace and higher morality too early.

For now, though, Cinderpelt was what he had. He flattened his ears, only half faking as he said in a quieter tone, “I can’t keep on like this. These dreams are really troubling me. Cinderpelt, please.”

She didn’t look too moved. “I really think it’s worry,” she said. “You should try getting your mind off of the security and future of the Clan. I know that’s a big ask, but it will help, I promise. If it doesn’t, we’ll try poppy again.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Tigerstar said.

There was a rustle at the entrance of the den, and a small white shape slipped past Tigerstar - Snowpaw. He went to his mentor’s side, and both of them settled back on their haunches to communicate in that strange language of symbols the apprentice’s mother had apparently invented. Tigerstar had expected Snowpaw to give up and retire to the elders’ den after a week or two of being unable to communicate, but even he had to admit that the poor thing’s tenacity was endearing.

Cinderpelt and Snowpaw’s silent conversation lasted only a moment, and at the end of it, she reached out to Snowpaw and licked him affectionately on the head. The apprentice ducked away, looking embarrassed.

“We were going to go to the sandy hollow today. The other mentors were going to work on battle skills, and I thought it might be good for Snowpaw to learn to defend himself,” Cinderpelt said. “You should come along.”

Tigerstar grunted noncommittally. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Getting back into normal Clan life might help you focus on the present instead of worrying about the future,” Cinderpelt said.

Tigerstar wrinkled his nose. He didn’t have much taste for what she called ‘normal Clan life’ anymore. He was concerned with matters of importance. “I’m far too busy,” he said.

Cinderpelt’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I’ve spent far too much time watching you watch your kits to believe that,” she said. “Come along. I’m ordering it as your medicine cat. Besides, you could put a little more personal effort into training your apprentice.”

Tigerstar flattened his ears, scowling, but the longer he thought about it, the more the idea didn’t sound half-bad. Perhaps she was right - he’d been cooped up in this small camp worrying, and he hadn’t visited the sandy hollow in ages.

—

The weather was perfect for training. The air was balmy and warm, a hot breeze rolling nonchalantly past, but not humid enough to make physical activity uncomfortable. The sandy ground of the training hollow was hot under his pads, warmed by the midday sun. As they approached, Cinderpelt flicked Snowpaw’s side playfully with her tail, and the two of them bounded forward.

Already in the hollow were Ashpaw, Fernpaw, and Cloudpaw, and the former two’s mentors, Whitestorm and Dustpelt. Each of the warriors gave Tigerstar a respectful nod as he entered the clearing - the apprentices’ eyes sparked with interest. Cloudpaw bounced up to him with especial enthusiasm.

“Calm yourself,” Tigerstar said, unable to keep a note of affection from his voice.

Despite his lowly origins, Cloudpaw had shown himself to be an intelligent, hardworking cat once he was sufficiently challenged. Perhaps poor mentorship had led to his bad behavior the previous spring - since Tigerstar had taken over his training, the white tom had become determined to prove himself, and ten times more competent and reliable as a result.

Of course, part of the key was that Cloudpaw was motivated by praise - so no matter how well he did, Tigerstar meted out his approval to a few words per training session, lest the young thing’s ego grow fat.

Whitestorm greeted Cinderpelt with a friendly nod, then stood, speaking loudly enough that every cat could hear him. “We didn’t know you were joining us, Tigerstar,” he said. “We were going to start with a history lesson before we transitioned into battle training today. Would you like to take the lead?”

“What history would that be?” Tigerstar said.

“The battle to drive out Brokenstar. These kits are too young to remember it. Then we could talk about tactics to meet ShadowClan fighting styles.”

Tigerstar wrinkled his nose at the thought of the old ShadowClan leader. He had died mysteriously before Tigerstar even went to get his nine lives - wounds from the rogue battle, Yellowfang had said, and Tigerstar hadn’t really been torn up enough about it to question her. If some ThunderClan cat had wanted to use the guise of the battle to kill Brokenstar, Tigerstar wouldn’t, couldn’t blame them - he’d been doing something far worse, probably at the very same time.

(A flash of blue fur in the trees. Tigerstar ignored it staunchly, as he always did.)

But all the same, he’d come to respect the old tom in the little time they’d spent together as allies. Brokenstar was cruel and angry, but he was also calculating, with a silver tongue to match Tigerstar’s own, and the fierceness of a lion. They’d respected each other. Tigerstar was not ashamed to say he had learned a lot from Brokenstar.

Encouraging growth, ensuring loyalty, emphasizing security - these were pillars of running a Clan that he had learned from Brokenstar, not Bluestar and her weak, limp-pawed excuse for leadership.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Tigerstar demanded, swishing his tail.

The apprentices lined up in front of them. Cloudpaw was eager and attentive as ever, but Ashpaw and Fernpaw looked, respectively, bored and a little nervous. Snowpaw joined the line too, after a nudge from Cinderpelt, and sat still with his tail twitching.

Tigerstar looked down his nose at the white apprentice. To Cinderpelt, he asked, “Is he going to be able to hear?”

“He’s been working on lip-reading,” Cinderpelt said in a _I’m-reaching-the-end-of-my-patience_ tone.

Tigerstar doubted the medicine apprentice’s ability to actually track the conversation, but it hurt no cat for him to sit there without understanding, so he let the issue go. “The battle with ShadowClan, hm? What do you ‘paws know about it already?”

“Er, it was to oust Brokenstar. He was a bad leader,” Fernpaw offered.

Snowpaw, who had watched Fernpaw intently as she spoke, suddenly brightened and waved his tail in the air. “Battle,” he said aloud. His voice was loud, and monotone, but surprisingly clear.

Tigerstar twitched an ear in surprise. Snowpaw could talk? “Yes, the battle,” he said. “Do you know anything of it?”

Snowpaw nodded enthusiastically. “Cinderpelt, taken,” he said. He licked his lips, blue eyes narrowing, as though he were trying to think of something else to say, but after a moment he sat back, tail twitching.

Tigerstar nodded. “Yes, Cinderpelt and her littermates - Brackenfur, Brightclaw and Thorntooth - were all taken to ShadowClan’s camp. Does any cat know by whom?”

“Brokenstar, right?” Ashpaw said.

“No, no,” Tigerstar said, shaking his head. “Brokenstar was too clever to do that. It was a rogue, named Clawface.”

He hesitated. There was no need to make his Clan think poorly of Brokenstar. The old tom hadn’t been as terrible as Bluestar and Yellowfang made him out to be.

“Clawface acted without orders,” he said, “trying to prove himself to Brokenstar.”

Behind the apprentices, Whitestorm, Dustpelt, and Cinderpelt exchanged surprised glances, but remained silent.

“Why did we attack ShadowClan, then?” Ashpaw said defiantly.

“Dear old Bluestar didn’t take the time to learn the truth,” Tigerstar said, keeping his voice low and smooth. “She sent two apprentices to investigate the situation, took them on their word, and sent a battle party. But do you know who those two apprentices were?”

All of the apprentices narrowed their eyes and screwed up their faces, thinking, before hesitantly shaking their heads.

“Firepaw and Graypaw,” Tigerstar snarled. The suddenness of his aggressive gesture caused the apprentices to startle. Fernpaw actually jumped back with fright, and Snowpaw’s eyes stretched so wide that the whites were visible, his fur bristling. It occurred to Tigerstar that the deaf apprentice might not have been able to read his lips when he was snarling. He leaned in closer.

“Firepaw and Graypaw,” he repeated slowly, growling. “Do any of you know who they grew up to be?”

“Fireheart and Graystripe,” Cloudpaw said, speaking up for the first time. His voice was cold. Although he had been startled with the others, he had recovered the most quickly - his fur was already flat. “ThunderClan’s enemies,” he continued. “Traitors to our Clan.”

“That’s right,” Tigerstar said. “Do you think we should have trusted them, when they said that ShadowClan were the ones to take the kits? Do you think we should have listened to them, when they sent for a battle party to depose Brokenstar?”

“No,” the apprentices chorused, their voices weak with fear. Cloudpaw’s voice rose above, loud and confident.

“Can any cat tell me where they are now?” Tigerstar said. He waited for a volunteer, but when none came, he said, “Fernpaw?”

The gray molly shrank back. “Um… in the outer forest?” she guessed.

He’d frightened her, Tigerstar realized. It had been the right tack to take to get his point across, but now Fernpaw was in no mind to learn. He smoothed his fur, and leaned back, giving her space. Switching to a soothing, gentle tone, he said, “No, my dear. You’re a smart one - I know you know the answer.”

Fernpaw sat up again, thinking hard. The other apprentices stared at her expectantly. But she chewed her lip, silent. Finally, she fluffed her fur up with frustration. “I don’t know!” she admitted.

“That’s right!” Tigerstar said, putting as much enthusiasm and excitement into his voice as he could. Fernpaw looked shocked, but then straightened, up, proud of herself. “We have no idea where our enemies could be lurking. They could be in the outer forest, yes - or they could be in the Twolegplace, or one of the other Clans could have given them sanctuary and hidden them from us. They could have traveled far away to recruit new warriors in their crusade against us, or they could be hiding in our very own territory, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“When you complain about waking early or staying up late for a patrol, remember that. You are ThunderClan’s last defense. Without our constant vigilance, they will come for us, and they will kill us,” Tigerstar said.

The apprentices still looked scared, but more dignified now. Fernpaw had sat up straight, her eyes hard with determination, her fur fluffed out. Ashpaw’s claws were out, digging into the sand. Cloudpaw had tensed with anticipation. Only Snowpaw still looked hesitant, but of course, Cinderpelt had probably already gone injecting that pacifist medicine cat nonsense into him.

“Strong ThunderClan warriors are the only thing keeping Fireheart’s unknown evils at bay,” Tigerstar said, “which is why you are training. Let's practice some battle tactics.”

Whitestorm bounded forward to Tigerstar’s side. “Great. I thought we could start today with scruff shakes. ShadowClan are much smaller than us, so it’s an effective move against them.”

“What are you doing,” Tigerstar said, irritated.

Whitestorm flattened his ears, obviously confused. “Er, giving instructions for battle practice,” he said.

“I can handle that,” Tigerstar snapped. For a moment Whitestorm looked almost as though he might protest, but after a few heartbeats he dipped his head and stepped back. Tigerstar turned his attention back to the apprentices. The moment had been ruined by Whitestorm’s absolute lack of showmanship, but they were still attentive, if slightly less frightened.

“Forget the scruff shakes,” Tigerstar ordered. “We’re just fighting. You’re all old enough that we don’t need to review individual moves. Cloudpaw and Snowpaw, you’ll go first.”

“Okay, great. Ashpaw and Fernpaw, you can practice over here,” Whitestorm said, looking relieved.

Tigerstar shot him a look. “Did I say they were practicing? You two can sit and watch while Cloudpaw and Snowpaw fight. Learn from their tactics.”

Whitestorm sighed and sat down again, cowed. Tigerstar flattened his ears and stared at his old friend while the apprentices scuffled into place. Since when had Whitestorm become so concerned with micromanaging his leadership? He had never opposed Tigerstar this much before. Was the white tom more like Bluestar than he had once thought?

Ashpaw and Fernpaw came to sit beside Whitestorm, tensed, while Cloudpaw and Snowpaw took the center of the hollow, facing one another. Cloudpaw was bigger than most full-grown warriors by now, and was visibly stronger than the medicine apprentice. He seemed to take pride in showing off his strong, stocky build, obviously trying to intimidate his opponent. Snowpaw, for his part, wasn’t cowering or nervous-looking - his blue eyes narrowed with something akin to determination.

Each of them were watching Tigerstar out of the corner of their eyes.

He flicked his tail. “Go on.”

They didn’t need much encouragement. Cloudpaw launched himself at Snowpaw, bowling him over instantly, but the medicine apprentice wriggled out from his grasp with ease and batted Cloudpaw in the face - a gesture that surely would have hurt, had his claws not been sheathed.

The battle continued, a match of brawn versus surprising speed and agility, but Tigerstar noted with increasing frustration that with claws sheathed, it looked less like battle training and more like a kits’ playfight. Finally, fed up, he ordered, “Claws out, you two!”

Cloudpaw obeyed immediately, and slashed Snowpaw across the shoulder. The medicine cat apprentice’s blood welled up instantly, and drops were flung from Cloudpaw’s claws onto the sandy floor of the hollow. Snowpaw gasped and leapt back, visibly shocked. 

“Stop this!” Cinderpelt shouted, half shocked, half furious.

Before either of them could make another move, Cinderpelt hobbled between them, moving quickly. She bent her head to examine her apprentice’s wounds and Cloudpaw moved back with the deference that was expected for a medicine cat, but there was a glint of defiance in his eye.

Once she was satisfied that Snowpaw wasn’t actually hurt badly, Cinderpelt snapped her head up to glare at Tigerstar. “Are you kidding?” she snapped. “Did you forget that he can’t hear your orders?”

“Good thing I made him a medicine cat, then,” Tigerstar growled. He was growing more frustrated by the moment. How many more obstacles would his warriors throw at him while he was just trying to train some apprentices properly?

Cinderpelt ignored his response. “They _both_ could have been seriously injured,” she continued. “That’s no way to train an apprentice.”

Tigerstar held back a snarl. He stood, stalking towards her. “How would you know, medicine cat? This is how warriors train. Dustpelt here can tell you that- he trained like this with Darkstripe,” he added, jerking his head at the brown tom.

Dustpelt hesitated for a heartbeat, but lifted his chin and shot Cinderpelt a cool look. She glanced around, obviously still incensed, but found no one to support her. “Fine,” she snapped. “Snowpaw and I are done for the day.” She touched her tail to her apprentice’s shoulder, and the pair of them headed off into the woods.

Tigerstar longed to drag her back to the hollow and give her a taste of what-for, with the way she’d embarrassed him in front of two of his senior warriors and all the Clan’s apprentices. Did she not see how weak she was making him look, or did she enjoy doing it? But no matter how irritating she made herself, Cinderpelt was still the medicine cat, and ThunderClan couldn’t get along without one.

He turned back to Cloudpaw, who was watching him with poorly veiled interest. “Fernpaw next,” he said brusquely.

“Er, with who?” Whitestorm said.

“Cloudpaw,” Tigerstar snapped. Wasn’t it obvious? His apprentice had barely gotten to warm up before Cinderpelt stopped the fight.

Fernpaw stepped forward to stand across from her adopted brother. She bit her lip, tensing for the fight. Tigerstar sighed inwardly. Her stance was obviously wrong.

Both of them circled around one another for a few moments, tails swishing. “Get on with it,” Tigerstar called.

Fernpaw went loose, obviously expecting Cloudpaw to repeat his opening tactic from the previous fight. But instead, he reared up on his hind legs, ready to slam his weight down on her. Suddenly unprepared, Fernpaw couldn’t escape on time. As she scrabbled out from under him, Cloudpaw gave her a good scratch on the haunches, only for her to turn and slash at his ear.

He sprang back, clearly surprised she had already unsheathed her claws, and Fernpaw hissed with uncharacteristic ferocity. She jumped forward, ready to tackle Cloudpaw.

But she’d overestimated her power. He was bigger than her, and took no issue with batting her aside before springing in and pinning her to the ground by her shoulders. Fernpaw twisted her body to maneuver into place for a belly rake, but before she could, Cloudpaw planted one white paw on her belly, pinning her completely.

Tigerstar narrowed his eyes, not calling an end to the fight. He wanted to see if Cloudpaw would commit an apprentice’s typical mistake - to let their opponent up after they went limp, assuming the battle was won. But when Fernpaw relaxed, Cloudpaw didn’t even twitch. He just kept holding her down, giving her an intent look.

“That’s fine,” Tigerstar said, and Cloudpaw finally let his sister up. Shooting Cloudpaw a baleful glance, Fernpaw scampered over to Dustpelt’s side.

Tigerstar knew the conventional thing now would be to have Fernpaw and Ashpaw fight, but he narrowed his eyes, thinking. Cloudpaw had already caught his breath - these fights were not a challenge for him. How long and hard could he fight before he started to lose?

Tigerstar wanted to test him. He jerked his muzzle to Ashpaw. “Your turn.”

The hollow was quiet as Ashpaw approached the center where Cloudpaw stood. The brothers eyed one another with obvious hesitation. They were both bulky cats, and each would have been trained to use his superior size in a battle against an opponent. But Cloudpaw was much larger than Ashpaw as a matter of age.

Ashpaw’s dark eyes flickered, and he seemed to make a decision. He feinted left, and Cloudpaw visibly twitched.

Ashpaw did that several more times - seeming to finally launch his attack only to immediately draw back. Cloudpaw was growing more and more frustrated. When the gray apprentice finally did launch his attack, it wasn’t the strength-based show of brute force he’d been hinting towards.

Rather, he darted in and hit Cloudpaw across the face with a sheathed paw, and then darted back again out of paw’s reach. Enraged, Cloudpaw leapt forward to attack, but Ashpaw simply jumped out of the way.

The apprentices traded offensive and defensive positions back and forth as the fight continued, but their tactics never changed. Cloudpaw remained mostly unmoving, while Ashpaw jumped back and forth like a WindClan cat. Still, there was a decided clumsiness to the gray apprentice’s moves. _He knows he’s can’t beat his opponent on strength,_ Tigerstar realized, _so he’s trying to outsmart and outspeed him._

But it wasn’t what Ashpaw was trained for. Though he was still faster than Cloudpaw, and good at out-thinking him, he just wasn’t fast enough to escape every swipe. When his nicks started to pile up, he grew visibly impatient. Finally, he snapped, rearing up on his hind legs in an attempt to try the same move Cloudpaw had opened Fernpaw’s fight with.

Cloudpaw did not attempt to dodge, but reared back as well, planting his paws on Ashpaw’s shoulders. The two toms wrestled in the air for a moment, staggering back and forth on their hind legs, before Cloudpaw outmatched his brother and pinned him.

Tigerstar didn’t wait to watch what he’d do this time. He dismissed the fight, and Ashpaw retreated to his mentor’s side. Cloudpaw, meanwhile, turned to face him with a look of glowing pride.

It had been a good show of strength. Clearly, Cloudpaw had mastered his fighting style, and it was one that was well suited for him. But now Tigerstar wondered what Cloudpaw would do if he were put in the position Ashpaw had started in, where he was smaller and his strength didn’t guarantee him a win. Even when he had fought Darkstripe, Cloudpaw was relying on his weight to help him win the fight. Could he still win if he had to try something else?

Tigerstar flicked his tail at Dustpelt. “You now.”

Dustpelt wasn’t large by ThunderClan standards, but then, neither was Cloudpaw. Dustpelt was very strong, though, enough to hold his own against bigger opponents, while Cloudpaw’s short, stocky mass wasn’t all muscle. Cloudpaw couldn’t beat this fight with his usual tricks, and Tigerstar could see that the white apprentice knew it.

Dustpelt, for his part, stepped forward with significant hesitance. “Are you sure an apprentice should be fighting a warrior claws unsheathed? It was one thing when it was among the apprentices, but…” he said, tail thrashing anxiously.

“Darkstripe did it with you, didn’t he? Get on with it,” Tigerstar growled. Why was every cat so determined to question his leadership today?

Dustpelt wrinkled his nose and nodded. He turned back to Cloudpaw, dropping into a defensive stance.

At first, Dustpelt didn’t fight back much, primarily batting away Cloudpaw’s aggressive attacks. But when it became clear that Tigerstar wasn’t going to let the fight end without an actual challenge, he stepped it up. 

Dustpelt began to aggressively throw his weight around, backing Cloudpaw up towards the edge of the hollow, forcing him to dodge away from blows at the last second. The white apprentice gritted his teeth, barely avoiding scratches to his face and ears.

Tigerstar found himself unreasonably tense. He _wanted_ Cloudpaw to win.

The white apprentice only let Dustpelt batter him for a few moments before springing, obviously hoping to land on Dustpelt’s back. Unfortunately for him, Dustpelt tensed, and dropped into a roll as soon as Cloudpaw had landed. They scrambled apart, each cat getting to his feet, but there was no pause for posturing or spitting insults - Dustpelt immediately launched himself at Cloudpaw. Obviously not expecting the attack, Cloudpaw almost allowed himself to be bowled over.

But he recovered quickly, and a look of pure fury crossed his face.

Almost before Tigerstar could tell what had happened, Dustpelt reeled back, trembling. It was obvious that he was trying to suppress his instinct to flee. Tigerstar stood, signaling for the fight to end.

Cloudpaw relaxed immediately, standing and shaking the dust out of his coat and licking a few small wounds. Dustpelt whimpered, sitting back on his haunches to reveal cuts scoring across his soft belly where Cloudpaw had given him a vicious belly rake.

“Go get that fixed up,” Tigerstar ordered with a nod. Dustpelt sighed a thank you and quickly made his way out of the hollow, Fernpaw following closely after with a look of deep concern on her face.

The only remaining cats in the sandy clearing were Tigerstar, Whitestorm, Ashpaw, and Cloudpaw. Whitestorm looked fully neutral, his face clear of emotion, while Ashpaw’s eyes were wide and round - probably excited from a fight well fought. Cloudpaw, barely injured, was standing with puffed fur and a defiant look in the center of the hollow.

Tigerstar couldn’t be more pleased. Cloudpaw had proven himself to be not just a master of one fighting style, but a truly great warrior. Dustpelt was not an easy cat to beat.

“Well done,” he said, meaning it. Cloudpaw swelled with pride, his eyes shining, but said nothing, just looking up at his mentor attentively.

Tigerstar looked back at Whitestorm. “Are you thinking what I am?” he asked his old friend playfully.

Whitestorm remained disappointingly blank. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking,” he said.

Tigerstar sighed - there was no sense of charisma in this Clan. He turned back to Cloudpaw. “It wasn’t an official assessment, but I’m thinking someone in this hollow has proven himself. It seems to me that we have a new warrior on our paws.”

Cloudpaw looked absolutely delighted, but he stayed perfectly still and attentive, as Tigerstar had taught him to.

“Well? Aren’t you pleased?” Tigerstar teased. “We don’t have to give you your name if you don’t want it.”

Cloudpaw finally smiled, bouncing slightly on his paws. “No, I want it,” he argued.

“Good. You’ve earned it,” Tigerstar said warmly. He truly meant it. Cloudpaw had become a strong and dependable warrior, he reflected. And from such a terrible, disobedient start with such a bad influence for a mentor. And such lowly origins, as well. But Cloudpaw had proven himself in a way Fireheart had never bothered to, and now he was ThunderClan’s pride. Tigerstar would be glad to count him as a full warrior of his Clan.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice that he preferred to ignore added, _And how could Fireheart attack a Clan when his nephew is the one defending it?_

Tigerstar put the thought aside, as usual. In the trees, he saw a flash of familiar eyes, cold as a cut of beryl stone.


	25. Bonus: Dustpelt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dustpelt rationalizes things.

He was woken in the morning by the sound of a cat slipping quietly out of the warriors’ den. It was smaller now, and harder than ever to even twitch without waking every other cat. Still, he didn’t even need to open his eyes to know that the cat that left was Sandstorm.

She’d been distant lately. At first Dustpelt had thought she might have been annoyed that he had gotten an apprentice and she hadn’t, but she wouldn’t hold a grudge over that for moons and moons. With that option gone, Dustpelt had no choice but to assume he had said something else to make her angry and not even realized it.

Brightclaw was ever the control freak, but when she could get away with it, Sandstorm hunted alone. Or wandered off on border patrols, or came home late from Gatherings without so much as a word of explanation. Dustpelt asked every damn cat in the ravine if they knew what was wrong with her and not one of them seemed to know, or they weren’t telling. 

Feeling suddenly determined, he slipped out of the den, careful not to step on any cats’ tails. But by the time he emerged into the clearing, Sandstorm had gone. She had probably disappeared into the medicine den or the nursery. But somehow her absence was still a letdown. 

Dustpelt couldn’t help but feel a pang of loneliness in his stomach. Since his parents and sister had died when he was very young, he had never been close to many cats in the Clan save Sandstorm and Ravenpaw. He managed friendly banter with some of the other warriors, sure, but he never felt very close to any of them, especially after Ravenpaw died. And now that Sandstorm, too, was distancing herself from him, he knew deep down inside that he had almost no friends in the Clan at all.

A small, fuzzy presence brushed up against him, and Dustpelt turned, purring.

Fernpaw, of course, was the exception. An apprentice wasn't the same thing as a friend, and he couldn’t tell her his troubles in good conscience, but he felt a fierce pride over her, and he loved teaching her. When he was younger he’d never understood why the senior warriors placed so much stock in the experience of mentorship, but now he understood how much it forced a cat to think on their own place in things and how the world worked. 

“What are we doing today?” Fernpaw said brightly, seeming none the more tired for waking up so early.

“Training, you lump. What else?” Dustpelt teased.

But instead of sticking her tongue out like he expected her to, Fernpaw’s fur spiked with alarm. “Like yesterday?” she said.

Dustpelt suppressed his cringe. He hadn't really spoken to any cat about Tigerstar’s unusual behavior in the training hollow yesterday. He wasn’t sure who he could even bring it up with. Sandstorm was obviously ignoring him, and he felt uncomfortable accusing Tigerstar of lying in front of anyone else - especially when Brightclaw was always around and seemed determined to root out anyone she could deem ‘disloyal.’

Moreover, he just wasn’t sure what to think about it. He was reasonably sure that some of the things Tigerstar said weren’t true - like that Brokenstar hadn’t _really_ been stealing kits, only rogue warriors. But how did he really know that? After all, the only reason he or any other cat thought any different was on the word of Fireheart and Graystripe, Clan traitors, and Yellowfang, whose remaining affinity for ShadowClan was obvious. And would StarClan really appoint and give nine lives to a cat who was willing to lie like that? Surely if Tigerstar were trying to lie to and manipulate his Clan, StarClan would show their disapproval?

He would be the first to change his mind if other evidence came up, but there was nothing to say for _now_ that anything was amiss.

That, though, wasn’t what Fernpaw was worried about. He suspected the possibility of Tigerstar lying had gone right over her head. What had frightened her was witnessing her mentor fighting another apprentice, claws out.

He wasn’t sure how to reassure her. Sure, the situation had been scary and unfamiliar at the time when it seemed that Tigerstar was using it as regular practice - but the whole thing had changed when he revealed it was actually his way of assessing Cloudpaw to be a warrior. Dustpelt had fought Darkstripe claws-out for his assessment, and he had turned out fine, without so much as a scar.

Still, he crouched down to meet her eye-to-eye, trying to look and sound gentle. “Were you frightened yesterday?”

Fernpaw nodded mutely, flattening her ears, and Dustpelt wrinkled his nose. “I understand. Fernpaw, you know I’m never going to do anything that will hurt you, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” she murmured.

“But other cats - ThunderClan’s enemies - they won’t make that same promise. Someday, you might have to fight a cat as big as me, but one who has no qualms about hurting you,” he said. “That’s why it’s important that we do that sort of thing sometimes. Not all of the time, but sometimes.”

Fernpaw glanced away, biting her lip, but finally looked back at him. “I understand,” she said.

She was still frightened, and he could tell. “If you want, I’ll ask Brightclaw if we can skip the sandy hollow in favor of an extra patrol today,” he said.

Fernpaw brightened. “Oh, great!” she said. “Can Ashpaw come from the other camp?”

“That's up to Brightclaw,” Dustpelt replied, holding back his smile. Her cheer was always infectious. “Now, come on, let’s go get our assignments.”

—

Much later that same day, Dustpelt was reclining under the whitebeam tree in camp, having already eaten. The sun was setting over the forest, and he was happy to watch his Clanmates scrabble over the last bits of sunlight. The elders were bickering so passionately that Brindleface’s two kits were crawling all over them and they hadn’t even noticed; Fernpaw was sitting in a darker spot, entertaining Willowpelt’s litter with her storytelling.

It felt peaceful, and calm. If there was still a seed of doubt in his belly over the previous day’s events, it was quelled now. Clan life had gone on as normal. The world hadn’t changed just because Tigerstar made a few strange decisions.

From behind where Runningwind and Brackenfur sat chatting over the remains of their prey, Dustpelt saw Sandstorm stand. She headed toward the currently-empty nursery, and no cat seemed to notice.

His fur standing on end, he lowered his head so she wouldn’t see him watching.

She glanced around, not looking quite nervous so much as cautious, and when she didn’t notice his gaze, she slipped behind the nursery. For several moments Dustpelt watched the spot where she'd disappeared, praying she’d only been going after a stray mossball tossed by a kit or investigating some strange sound or smell or - anything. But Sandstorm did not reappear.

Dustpelt knew as well as any cat about the hole in the camp wall behind the nursery, though he also knew as an older warrior it was more in his wheelhouse to feign ignorance over it than to use it. The hole was primarily frequented by rebellious apprentices and rambunctious kits. The fact that Sandstorm was even using it was embarrassing… and telling.

He didn’t think he wanted to know where she was going, but as the minutes dragged on and she still didn’t return, he resigned himself to following her for the good of the Clan.

(After all, he told himself, it would do no cat any good to have a second Graystripe, even if that cat was his best friend.)

He walked slowly with careful pawsteps, but no cat seemed to notice him going. After he had scrambled up the ravine, it was easy to pick up Sandstorm’s scent, heading toward Fourtrees.

Dustpelt’s heart thumped nervously. Could she be going to meet some cat from another Clan? What if it was Fireheart? He could still be on Clan territories, as Tigerstar had warned. 

But well before the territory started sloping upwards toward the Gathering place, Sandstorm’s scent trail veered sharply north. Focused on following it, he didn’t realize he was walking into the clearing where she stood until it was almost too late. He stumbled backward, making far too much noise to be stealthy, and cursed himself.

Sandstorm spun around, ears flattened suspiciously. “Who’s there?” she said.

Knowing there was no point in trying to stay hidden, Dustpelt stepped forward. “What’s going on?” he said.

Sandstorm stepped back, her eyes widening. “I just needed to be alone,” she said quickly. “Please don’t tell Brightclaw.”

“I won’t,” Dustpelt promised. Even if he and Sandstorm seemed to be in a fight, he wouldn’t snitch on her like that. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sandstorm sighed.

She turned away, facing up through the trees at the waning moon. It was clear to him that she was distressed. Was it still over whatever he had done to make her ignore him like this?

“What’s been going on, Sandstorm?” he said softly. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

She wrinkled her nose and turned back to face him again. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, lifting her chin.

It was so her to pretend nothing was going on like this. “Yes you do,” Dustpelt argued. “Come on, just tell me what I did so I can apologize.”

Sandstorm scoffed, but he tried not to prod, knowing it would give her a pass to take him less seriously. He just watched her.

After a moment, she exhaled hard through her nose. “There are - there are things happening, Dustpelt,” she said.

“That’s very specific,” he muttered reflexively.

She didn’t retort. “The reason I’ve been avoiding you isn’t your fault,” she admitted. “Some other cat said something that made me feel weird about you, and that’s on me. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel bad about it.”

“It’s okay,” Dustpelt said. She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “That’s not all, though, is it?”

“It’s not,” Sandstorm said. “There are things happening, Dustpelt, terrible things, and to be honest, I’m not sure if I can tell you about them. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

He felt as though he’d been struck. But there was no teasing tone in Sandstorm’s voice, no glitter of mischief in her eyes. She was dead serious. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally he managed to say, “Why?”

Sandstorm blinked several times and looked away again. “If I tell you why, and it turns out I shouldn’t have trusted you, I’ll be in nearly as much trouble as if I just told you the whole thing to begin with.”

For a moment, he was incredulous. What on earth was she talking about? What could possibly matter more than their friendship? “You _know_ that you’re my best friend. You know you can trust me with anything,” he said. How could she forget that?

Sandstorm didn't say anything, didn’t even meet his gaze.

“If you can’t even tell me why you think you can’t trust me, how am I supposed to prove to you that you can?” he said.

She obviously wasn’t expecting that. For a moment she stared at him, thinking. “What if,” she said, “what if you told me something? Something that you think you can’t trust another cat with? If - if I hear the right thing, I can tell you everything.”

Dustpelt nodded quickly. Whatever she needed from him.

But what would he tell her? They’d spent nearly every moment together in their kithood and apprentice days, and up until some days before when she started to distance herself, had told one another almost every detail of their lives. The only important thing she didn't know about was, well… the training hollow incident of the previous day.

For all that he’d rationalized it, it had been a little disturbing. His stomach turned thinking of how he’d been coerced into putting claws on a mere apprentice. And if he was being honest with himself, part of the reason he’d avoided talking about it with the other warriors was that he wasn’t completely sure how they’d react to criticism of Tigerstar. Especially when Brightclaw was always lurking around.

But Brightclaw wasn’t here now, was she? And Sandstorm was his best friend…

Was she really trustworthy, though? Dustpelt found himself remembering things he half didn’t want to. Her insistence that Fireheart, the Clan traitor, receive a full trial; her snarky and disrespectful comments about their Clan leader, whispered to him in quiet moments during meetings; how she’d come home late and muddy and exhausted a few Gatherings back and made him promise not to tell.

What if she wasn’t loyal? What if she hadn’t come out here to be alone? What if he’d interrupted her meeting with some nefarious unknown?

Dustpelt drew back.

“What’s wrong?” Sandstorm said, looking alarmed.

“I- I don’t think I can tell you,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “If you can’t trust me, then I can’t trust you.”

Frustration rose in his chest. How could she be so cavalier about this? Didn’t their growing up together mean anything to her? “Well, if you can't trust _me_ , then I can’t trust _you_ ,” he said. 

Sandstorm chewed her lip. “ _Fine_ then,” she spat.

“Fine,” he said. He stood there a moment longer, half wanting to apologize and half hoping she would, before turning back into the woods. The fight only felt half-finished, but he wasn't going to say mean things to her, and he wasn’t going to wait there for her to say mean things to him.

Dustpelt headed home to the ravine still unsure if he should feel bad or not. It was _her_ fault, after all, that she wouldn’t bother telling him anything.

He didn't tell any cat she had gone, though, even though he could have. _That will show her how trustworthy I am,_ he told himself spitefully. But by the time he laid down to sleep that night, his anger had sapped away, replaced by a gnawing sense of loneliness.


	26. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireheart solves peoples’ personal problems for them. Graystripe is made proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was betad by my friend rowan, @queerhollyleaf on tumblr! thank you rowan <3

Fireheart ducked hard as a stray swipe passed through the space where his head had been a moment before. He dropped to the ground on instinct, but his assailant didn't seem to notice him. For a moment he crouched on the ground, debating internally between ignoring the fight or breaking it up, as the apprentices battled on. Despite their bristling fur and nonstop energy, Oakpaw and Ratpaw were grinning ear to ear, and neither of them seemed to have noticed how much they’d disturbed the peaceful rhythm of the camp.

Before Fireheart could give in to his internal impulse to snap at them, Graystripe jumped up. The gray warrior put his paw down on Ratpaw’s tail, stopping him mid-lunge.

“Cut it out,” Graystripe said, failing to hide his amusement. “You’re bothering every cat. Besides, is this any way to behave on the day of your warrior ceremony?”

Immediately, Oakpaw and Ratpaw both dropped to the ground, looking at him. “No,” Oakpaw admitted. 

“Now clean up a bit,” Graystripe said. “You’re all dusty.”

The pair of them started licking their chests, and Graystripe stood back to settle next to Fireheart again.

Fireheart suppressed the urge to yawn. He’d only returned from the dawn patrol a little while earlier, and had been sharing tongues with Graystripe until the apprentices disturbed them. He leaned into his friend’s side. “When is their ceremony supposed to be again?”

There was a proud gleam in Graystripe’s yellow eyes as he watched the pair groom. “Sometime today, but Fleetwhisker said he needed to wait until he knew the time was right.”

Fireheart nodded. Fleetwhisker seemed to have the sort of connection to StarClan that neither Yellowfang nor Cinderpaw could boast of - the sort that he remembered Spottedleaf having, when he was younger. The type of cat that didn’t just know how to interpret StarClan’s signs when they were handed down, but who saw StarClan everywhere, who relied on them moment-to-moment. It had made Spottedleaf a bit of a social pariah in the Clan. Except for Fireheart, most cats had avoided conversations with her. 

Here, though, Fleetwhisker wasn’t a hermit in his medicine den but a leader to the Clan. It was strange sometimes, how different things were on the other side of the Thunderpath while still managing to stay the same.

And another thing that was different - Graystripe himself. In sharp contrast to his treatment of Brackenpaw, Graystripe had thrown himself into teaching Oakpaw and Ratpaw, and they both seemed to love him. It had started when he was spending a lot of time hunting with them, but when Oakpaw’s mentor died of disease, Graystripe had unofficially taken the apprentice on, and Ratpaw had relied on him as well until only a few weeks prior when his mentor, Fernshade, had been declared officially disease-free.

It wasn’t a change Fireheart could say he was ever expecting - he loved Graystripe with all his heart, but he had never been terribly _responsible_. Yet it wasn’t an unwelcome change, either.

“I feel good about things,” Fireheart said aloud, and it was the truth. The summer had been kind to ShadowClan’s bellies, the number of hunters in the Clan had recently doubled thanks to the former rogues, and the only remaining sick cat was Nightstar.

“Me too,” Graystripe said, still watching the apprentices. “I think I’m starting to, to feel better about being here. Like, ShadowClan needed us, you know?”

 _ThunderClan needed us too,_ Fireheart thought, his heart panging. But the more he sat on the words, the less willing he was to say them. Did ThunderClan _need_ them? It certainly didn’t seem that way. With every Gathering came news of more kits, more progress, more strength. With every border patrol came sightings of ThunderClan warriors, looking well-fed and sleek.

Fireheart had thought that he was the only thing guarding his Clan from Tigerstar’s tyranny, and that he had failed. But all evidence seemed to suggest that they had gotten along fine before him, and continued to get along fine once he left - and that Tigerstar wasn’t just not-terrible but a great leader for them. He wasn’t sure if this scenario was better or worse.

But it was better, it had to be better - because ThunderClan was, really and truly, fine. And without him and Graystripe, who knew if ShadowClan would have been.

And even beyond that, Fireheart thought, looking at the apprentices fondly, there were a lot of things he would have missed out on if he’d never come to ShadowClan. He wasn’t sure he would trade the last few months away, given the opportunity.

Graystripe coughed. “Er- Fireheart - actually, there’s something I kind of need to speak with you about.”

Fireheart glanced at him curiously. “What’s that?”

The gray tom looked a bit uncomfortable. He lifted a hind paw and scratched at his ear apprehensively. “Well-” he began.

But before he could speak another word, the sound of angry cats erupted from the other half of camp. With the bushes dividing the camp, Fireheart couldn’t see who was getting into a fight - but he might be able to guess, he thought with a sinking heart. He and Graystripe only needed to exchange glances before they both leapt up.

Fireheart skidded to a stop in the dust a few whisker-lengths from where Fernshade, Flintfang and Blackfoot had devolved once more into a hissing, spitting verbal fight - and it looked as though if Flintfang weren’t holding his sister back, they would have already gotten their claws out.

He swallowed and glanced back at Graystripe, who looked openly dismayed.

The Clan hadn’t healed the way he’d hoped it would since the former rogues had arrived back in camp. In fact, the two groups had treated one another coldly. Tangleburr spent most of her time alone, and slept on mostly-unused side of camp. Stumpytail had hardly left his mother Rowanberry’s side since returning. And the Clan as a whole turned their noses up at the former rogues, with the exception of poor Mowgli, whose presence they seemed to find somewhat confusing.

Out of all of them, though, Blackfoot was the only one who faced outright hostility. Much of it came from his littermates.

In a way, Fireheart thought privately, it was almost _admirable_ how steadfastly Blackfoot ignored his Clanmates’ vitriol, which was barely disguised even at the best of moments. On the other paw, he almost certainly deserved it.

As he arrived on the scene, Flintfang, who had already had a firm paw on his sister’s shoulders, rushed in front of her to block a claws-in swipe she made at Blackfoot.

Fernshade herself looked frantic. Her green eyes were wet with tears, but she was baring her teeth, her fur spiked and her back arched.

“How _dare_ you - you have no _right_ to - to talk like that,” she hissed.

Blackfoot had the decency to press his ears flat against his head and back up as she spoke.

Fireheart winced at the scene playing out before him. With Nightstar still terribly sick and no deputy around to manage things, there was no cat to stop this before it got too heated. Tail twitching anxiously, he stepped forward, putting himself between Blackfoot and the others. “What’s happening?” he said.

Fernshade took a deep breath, sucking in the air so hard it looked as though she was trying to suck her tears back in through her eyes - and knowing her, she was. “He shouldn’t be here,” she spat.

If it was possible for Blackfoot’s ears to press any closer to his head, they would have. “I just wanted to apologize,” he said.

Very quickly, Fireheart was getting that ever-more-familiar feeling of being terribly, terribly out of his depth. He glanced at Graystripe, who gave him nothing but a bemused shrug.

“Well, we’re not going to start a fight in the middle of camp,” he said, trying to sound firm. “So let’s everyone take a moment to calm down.”

Fernshade hissed with such sudden ferocity that Fireheart nearly jumped out of his pelt. “I don’t care what sort of deal you all made with them,” she spat, “but he needs to _leave_.”

Blackfoot grunted. “You know, I know not to stay where I’m not wanted,” he said.

“It sure doesn’t seem like it,” Fernshade goaded.

Blackfoot hissed once and fled, streaking through the bushes and out of the camp. Fernshade stared after him, then glanced at Flintfang, Fireheart, and Graystripe in turn, her eyes welling with tears once more. She made a noise - Fireheart wasn’t sure if it was a hiccup or a sob - and turned tail as well, headed towards the other side of camp.

Fireheart watched her go, his heart sinking into his knees. “That went well,” he said.

“What on earth…” Graystripe muttered. Flintfang glanced at him, then at Fireheart. With every moment that passed the gray-and-yellow tom looked more and more as though he were gearing up to flee as well.

No one was going to step up and deal with the situation, Fireheart realized. He’d have to make do himself.

“Graystripe, you’d better go after her,” he said, nodding in the direction Fernshade had gone. “I’m sure she’ll need a little comfort after all of that.” Graystripe nodded and took off, and Fireheart turned to Flintfang.

“What were they talking about?” he demanded.

Flintfang flattened his ears, glancing away. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ll stand here to hear it,” Fireheart said.

There was a long moment that Flintfang just looked at him, evaluating, and Fireheart couldn’t help but think of how the ShadowClan tom was seeing him - an arrogant, orange-pelted outsider who’d been born in the Twolegplace and raised in ThunderClan and who could never fully understand what had been done here in the moons before his arrival, no matter how many stories he was told. But Flintfang glanced around covertly, sighed, and began to speak.

“Fernshade’s son was one of Brokenstar’s early apprentices,” Flintfang said. “He, um… he died when we were driving out WindClan. You know, he wasn’t big enough to really fight, so the sort of injury a warrior could normally take…”

Fireheart felt ill.

“Well, Blackfoot was Brokenstar’s deputy at the time,” Flintfang said. “So Fernshade, she blamed him for it…”

As he spoke, Flintfang was growing quieter and quieter. He visibly tensed, drawing inwards. Fireheart frowned and leaned over. “Are you okay?” he said.

“Just fine,” Flintfang said, gasping slightly. “I’m fine.” He hissed in pain and bent over.

He was clearly _not_ fine. Was he sick? Fireheart quickly tried to remember if sudden pain was a symptom of the carrionplace disease. Could it have somehow made its way into camp again?

“Hold on just one second,” Fireheart said, and he sped towards the medicine den.

As he arrived, Fleetwhisker lifted his head calmly. “I already told Graystripe, we’ll do the ceremony when StarClan-”

“Not that,” Fireheart snapped. “You need to come take a look at Flintfang.”

Fleetwhisker sprang up, eyes wide, and followed him back to the other side of camp.

As soon as Flintfang was within sight, Fleetwhisker put on a burst of speed and sprinted forward to inspect him quickly. After a moment he took the other tom gently by the scruff, half-leading and half dragging him towards the medicine den. Fireheart followed close behind, anxiety thrumming hard in his chest. 

Oakpaw approached him, eyes wide, with Ratpaw creeping up not far behind. “Is Flintfang okay?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Fireheart said, hoping he was telling the truth.

“Are our ceremonies going to be put off?” Ratpaw demanded.

“Er…” Fireheart hesitated. On the one paw, he wasn’t even in charge of when the ceremonies were in the first place. On the other, he would hate if the first major positive landmark ShadowClan had reached in moons had to be put off.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Fireheart repeated.

Ratpaw looked dubious.

“Look, I’ll have a word with Fleetwhisker,” Fireheart promised. Ratpaw was still giving him a skeptical glare, but Fireheart could no longer stand here chatting with the apprentices without knowing whether Flintfang was okay. He gave them both a nod and trotted off towards the medicine den, as quickly as he could without seeming rude.

As he walked in, Fleetwhisker was leaning over Flintfang, trying to inspect him. The gray warrior was crouched in a nest and hadn’t relaxed a single muscle. Fleetwhisker wrinkled his nose and said, “Here. I’ll mix up some chamomile and thyme for you, all right?”

Flintfang hesitated, but finally gave a small, stiff nod. Fireheart followed the medicine cat into the back section of the den where the herb stores lay.

“Why not poppy seeds?” Fireheart asked.

Fleetwhisker gave him a sharp glance. “Since when are you a medicine cat?”

Fireheart flattened his ears. “Sorry. I just said the first thing I thought of.”

With a sigh, Fleetwhisker reached into the herb store. “No, it's fine. I’m not giving him poppy seeds because they can cause bad reactions in some cats or in some circumstances. For instance, sometimes they give cats more vivid dreams, and Flintfang already suffers from nightmares. And since I don’t know why he’s in pain, it’s safer to avoid them altogether.”

Fireheart hummed in understanding. He held himself back from offering to help with mixing herbs, or from pacing the length of the den - he was sure he would just be a distraction.

“What happened just before he started feeling ill?” Fleetwhisker said.

“I was asking him about Fernshade’s kit,” Fireheart said. “She and Blackfoot almost just came to claws with one another…”

Fleetwhisker winced. “Ah,” he said quietly. With a movement of his tail, he signaled to keep their voices down, and added, “Flintfang doesn’t talk about Badgerfang much.”

“Badgerfang?” Fireheart said in a low tone.

“Fernshade’s kit. He asked for a warrior name as he lay dying,” Fleetwhisker replied. “She blames Blackfoot for it now, I think. Flintfang feels a lot of guilt over the whole thing. It hurts him to think about.”

It felt wrong, to some degree, to talk about other cats’ internal lives without even telling them. Fireheart frowned. “Are we still going to have Oakpaw and Ratpaw’s ceremony today?” he asked in a louder voice.

Fleetwhisker rolled his eyes. “For StarClan’s sake, none of you ThunderClan cats understand faith or patience, do you?” His words were sharp, but his tone had no bite; on the contrary, it sounded almost affectionate. “The time will be right when it’s right. You can’t force things.”

With that, the medicine cat slipped past Fireheart back into the main den.

Fireheart wrinkled his nose, staring at the wall as he thought. Was there any way to get Fernshade and Blackfoot to reconcile? Or was he just forcing things by trying to make all of ShadowClan get along again?

He slunk out of the medicine den and back out into camp. Suddenly the bright and sunny day seemed dimmed. Oakpaw and Ratpaw had subdued themselves and retreated to a far corner of the camp to sulk about their ceremonies, and most of the warriors were nowhere to be seen, either napping through the day or out on border patrol. At the far end of camp, Tallpoppy was reclining in a patch of sunlight outside the nursery, watching the kits play. Fireheart headed over to join her, and she greeted him with a friendly nod. 

Cedarkit and Cinnamonkit shot past them, chasing one another in some sort of nursery game. Fireheart’s spirits lifted slightly at the sight of Cinnamonkit - a few moons before he had, with the assistance of Tallpoppy, announced his gender to the Clan. However, he had decided not to change his name until his apprentice ceremony, which would be sometime in the fall. Since then, he had become less shy and much more energetic.

After a few moments of play, however, the kits’ movements became more aggressive; they both fluffed their fur out and backed off from one another, squaring up. Tallpoppy’s ears pricked with alarm as she noticed.

“Hey!” she called out sharply. “You don’t have to like one another, but you have to play nice with one another.”

To Fireheart’s amazement, the admonishment actually worked - the kits flattened their fur and were back to playing together within a few moments. “If only it were that easy for the rest of us,” he joked.

Tallpoppy shot him a look. “Speak for yourself,” she said.

At first the statement seemed hypocritical, but after a moment of thinking, Fireheart realized that she had actually been fairly polite to the outsiders - if not too warm. Sure, she had thrown Blackfoot a few loathful glances - but she had never been as aggressive as some other cats.

He wasn’t sure if any cat could forgive each other for drastic personal betrayals quite as quickly as the kits had gotten over their tiff, but perhaps if the rest of the Clan could behave more like Tallpoppy things wouldn’t be quite so tense right now. Now _there_ was a place to start.

“Thanks, Tallpoppy,” he said aloud, standing up.

She raised her brow. “I didn’t help you with anything.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Fireheart said. He was too excited to stand there and explain it to her.

It didn't take long to find Blackfoot, who was sulking at the Burnt Sycamore - a long-dead tree whose long, spindly branches arced up into the sky menacingly. Upon seeing Fireheart, Blackfoot openly rolled his eyes and stood to leave.

“Hold on,” Fireheart said, irritated. “Where are you going?”

“Let me alone,” Blackfoot said. He turned his back and started east.

“Just listen to me for one second,” Fireheart said. The massive tom stopped walking, so Fireheart took it as his cue to keep walking. “Listen, you have a right to be here.”

Blackfoot snorted and turned to face him once more. “Do you know this Clan used to be twice as large as it is now?” he said. “The camp wasn’t built that large for inconvenience’s sake - it was built to contain a huge Clan. ShadowClan’s half-starved, half-killed, half-infected, and I’m the asshole that led them here.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” Fireheart said. “I think leaf-bare is responsible for the starvation and disease, at least.”

Blackfoot rolled his eyes once more and moved to keep walking.

“No, wait,” Fireheart said desperately. “Look, I understand how you feel. But if you really think you’re responsible for everything bad that’s happened to ShadowClan, don’t you think you should stay here and try to help the Clan rebuild?”

“I’d love to,” Blackfoot growled. “They don’t want me.”

“They’ll come around,” Fireheart said. “Or they won’t, maybe. But you’ll live and die knowing you tried to make up for your actions. No cat will ever be able to say you abandoned your Clan, because you won’t have, not even when they asked you to. Isn’t that worth something?”

Blackfoot’s eyes narrowed. A long moment passed, and Fireheart wondered if he’d said the right thing.

Finally Blackfoot said, “You know, kittypet, I was going to do something stupid before you showed up.”

Fireheart smiled. “Good thing I showed up, then.”

Without another word, Blackfoot joined him. The walk back to camp was silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. When Fireheart’s bad leg started to feel stiff, Blackfoot wordlessly matched his pace. By the time they returned, Fireheart’s spirits had lifted.

Somehow, the day had slipped away into early evening. The camp was bathed in soft amber light, and the summer cicadas were chirping away in the trees. Nearly all the border patrols had returned and found someplace to lie down and share tongues - Fireheart spotted Russetfur and Bouldernose sharing a frog next to some ferns. And the cats who had spent the day sleeping in preparation to hunt that night were out too, blinking blearily as they milled about.

Fireheart frowned when he saw that Oakpaw, Ratpaw, and Fleetwhisker were nowhere to be found. Had the medicine cat decided to delay the warrior ceremony after all?

Near one of the warriors' dens, Fireheart spotted Fernshade and Graystripe. Graystripe was sitting close to her, his tail wrapped around her, and she looked as though she had calmed somewhat. Fireheart turned to glance at Blackfoot, but he was already backing off, retreating to a quiet, shady part of the camp.

Fireheart took a deep breath and walked across the camp. Fernshade looked a bit dismayed as he approached, but he said nothing, only sat down on her other side.

“You didn't tell him to leave,” Fernshade said, her voice tight.

“Er, I don’t think I can do that,” Fireheart said. She gave him a funny look, but didn't reply.

Uncomfortably, Fireheart realized that ShadowClan still viewed him as somewhat of a liability. Though he had come to feel more at home here, he wasn't truly part of the Clan. In fact, his mere presence here was endangering these cats - if anyone on the other side of the Thunderpath realized he was here, they would all be targeted. If he wanted to, he could reveal himself, and ShadowClan would be overrun by ThunderClan again. Not that he would, but he didn’t like being in the position, and he was sure no one else did, either.

He put the thought to the back of his mind - that was for another day. “Fernshade,” he said, unsure where to begin.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she snapped. “You can’t tell me that I’m wrong to be angry over the death of my _son_.”

“I know,” Fireheart said. He hesitated, unsure how to put his thoughts into words. “I don’t think he’s a danger to any more kits, though. And if he still is, I mean… there’s a lot of cats around to keep an eye on him, and he’ll get exiled as soon as he does _anything_.”

“So it's me or him, is it?” Fernshade said, bristling.

Fireheart reeled back. “I….” he didn’t know how to answer. “I don’t want to have to make that choice.”

“Then what’s your proposal?” 

He paused. “I think… he wants the best for this Clan, and so do you. He has a right to be here. You don’t have to like him, but picking fights with him isn’t going to help any cat.”

Fernshade stared at him for a while, and Fireheart began to worry that she was going to reject him and demand that Blackfoot be thrown out.

“I think you don’t want him gone either,” Fireheart said quietly.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll… leave him alone.”

Fireheart brushed his tail against her side. “It’ll work out, I promise.”

For a moment, Fernshade said nothing. With Fireheart and Graystripe pressed up against her on either side, she looked somewhat reassured, and her eyes tracked her brother’s movements across the camp. But soon she stood and left, walking towards the fresh-kill pile and leaving Fireheart and Graystripe alone.

The camp was beginning to darken, still washed over with golden light, but the sun having gone behind the trees. Fireheart finally relaxed. Maybe things were going to be alright. 

Fleetwhisker suddenly emerged from the medicine den, followed closely by Flintfang. The gray-and-cream tom still looked tense, but much less panicked than earlier. Fireheart wondered whether or not he would appreciate being checked on. Before he could decide what to do, Fleetwhisker jumped up onto the rock and called a meeting.

Oakpaw and Ratpaw rushed forward before Fleetwhisker could say another word. Fireheart hoped they weren’t about to be disappointed. He exchanged a glance with Graystripe and they headed forwards to sit closer.

Russetfur slipped in beside Fireheart. “Looks like Graystripe’s about to be made proud,” she said quietly.

Fireheart glanced at his best friend. Graystripe’s eyes were shining with pride, and with the way he was vibrating with excitement a cat might almost think he was waiting for his own warrior ceremony.

“I think he already is,” Fireheart replied.

To Fireheart's surprise, Nightstar did not emerge even to overlook the ceremony. Fleetwhisker had explained that he would be the one to run it due to the leader’s still-ailing health, but Fireheart had thought Nightstar would want to watch. It was worrying to think that he might be too sick to.

“I, Fleetwhisker, medicine cat of ShadowClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these two apprentices,” Fleetwhisker began. The familiar words felt like a balm on Fireheart's skin. It had been so long since he had felt so fully immersed in regular Clan life - even the day-to-day here in ShadowClan felt _off_ by virtue of a lack of leadership.

“Oakpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?” Fleetwhisker said.

Oakpaw took a deep breath and said, “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Oakpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Oakfur. StarClan honors your dedication and thoughtfulness, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ShadowClan.”

Oakfur looked as though he were trying very hard not to leap up in the air.

“Ratpaw,” Fleetwhisker said, turning towards the apprentice. “Do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Ratpaw, normally ever-so-blasé, now narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest. “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Ratpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Ratclaw. StarClan honors your strength and honesty, and we welcome you as a warrior of ShadowClan.”

With that, the camp exploded in cheers for the two apprentices. Fireheart raised his voice and shouted their names several times, letting himself get caught up in the group euphoria. When the cheers had died down, Graystripe was gone from his side, instead congratulating the apprentices up-close.

Fireheart glanced around and spotted Fleetwhisker sitting off to the side of the announcement rock, watching the Clan with a look of quiet satisfaction. He trotted over and took a seat.

“What happened to not forcing things?” he said.

“The time was right,” Fleetwhisker replied simply. His eyes were half-closed with contentment.

Watching the Clan, Fireheart thought, they almost looked like one. The split down the middle was temporarily gone in favor of congratulating the apprentices… albeit awkwardly on the rogues’ part.

“Do you think I did the right thing?” Fireheart said.

Fleetwhisker didn’t need to ask anything to know what he was talking about. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I think you always do what you think is the right thing, Fireheart. So if things go bad again, you can always have that to lean on.”

Half of Fireheart wanted to promise him that things weren’t going to go wrong again. That he was going to fix the Clan. But he knew that wasn’t his place. Sitting here on the outskirts, he wasn’t a part of ShadowClan - he was a foreigner among them.

Still, though, it would be nice to stay awhile.


	27. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandstorm tries to reach her friends. Snowpaw gets a chance.

She had a plan.

Step one was to wait for a day when she was assigned only two patrols. After hunting in the morning, she went straight out again on a sunhigh border patrol along the Fourtrees border, which was thick with brambles. Swiftstrike was leading, but Runningwind and Thorntooth were there, too. She volunteered to take the back position, hoping her nerves weren't showing.

When they were shouldering their way through a particularly dense thicket, Sandstorm deliberately drew back slightly. When no cat noticed her falling behind, she picked up a thorn gently in her teeth, hissed in pain, and picked one forepaw up off the ground.

Runningwind’s head swiveled. “Sandstorm? You all right there?”

“I think I stepped on a thorn,” she mumbled, and she brought her paw up to her mouth. As discreetly as she could, she nipped herself and licked the wound a few times so it would start bleeding.

Runningwind and Thorntooth had both turned around and headed back towards her to see what all the fuss was about; Swiftstrike was hanging back. She lifted her head and spat the thorn out onto the ground, making sure they could all see it.

On the whole, they looked less worried and more irritated that she was holding up the patrol. Maybe she hadn’t picked a big enough thorn.

“Do you think you can do the rest of the patrol?” Runningwind said gently.

At that, Swiftstrike rolled his eyes and huffed loudly. He stepped forward, shouldering his way between Runningwind and Thorntooth. “Let me see that,” he said, grabbing Sandstorm’s paw. After a glance, he said, “You’ll be fine, Sandstorm. Although I suppose you should probably see Yellowfang when you get back. StarClan knows we don’t need cats getting infections right now.”

 _StarClan bless you, Swiftstrike,_ Sandstorm thought, wrinkling her nose to keep from smiling.

They finished the patrol easily without any more incident, and Swiftstrike bid the three of them farewell at the Owl Tree camp, leaving them to trek home to the ravine on their own. As they arrived, Dustpelt and Fernpaw were coming out of the ravine, and Sandstorm didn’t need to look at Dustpelt to know he was avoiding looking at her.

(Not that _that_ was the most important thing going on right now. And besides, he was all-in on Tigerstar, and he had pretty much said as much to her, so why did she care so much about him anyway?)

As they arrived back in camp, Brightclaw bounded up to meet them, but Sandstorm kept walking, making a beeline for the medicine den.

“Where’s she going?” she heard Brightclaw demand behind her.

“She stepped on a thorn. Swiftstrike told her to go see Yellowfang over it,” Thorntooth replied.

Trying not to walk too fast, Sandstorm headed down the tunnel into the medicine den.

The front area with the nests was empty, so she headed past into the clearing where the herbs were kept. There she found Yellowfang, who was lying in her nest counting berries on a leaf.

“What’s the trouble?” Yellowfang said by way of greeting.

She held up her paw. “I stepped on a thorn.”

The older molly nodded at the herb store. “Would you be a dear and fetch me a few oak leaves? And cobweb, if the bleeding is bad?”

Sandstorm obeyed, and sat down next to Yellowfang’s nest as the medicine cat began chewing the leaves into a poultice. She wordlessly held out her paw to be treated, and when it was done, thanked Yellowfang quietly, but did not move.

Yellowfang eyed her. “Is there something else?”

She paused. Was she making the right choice? Was Yellowfang really trustworthy? Surely she was, right? Surely Tigerstar was wrong about her.

And was there any cat listening in? If there was, they were done for. Sandstorm twitched her ears around, listening for any telltale breathing or crackle of leaves from a cat hiding in the bushes, and opened her mouth to taste for any trace of another cat in the air.

“You’re making me jumpy there, sharptongue,” Yellowfang said. “Really, what’s eating you?”

Sandstorm wasn’t satisfied that no cat was listening, but if she didn’t do this now, when she had specifically given herself the opportunity, she never would. She dropped to a crouch and leaned in close to the elderly molly. Quiet as a summer breeze, she said, “I think there's something really, really wrong in ThunderClan.”

Quiet relief washed over her as Yellowfang snorted, “You and me both, sister. What tipped you off?” she went on. “The split camps? All the sudden new kits from cats that didn't want them? The apprentices getting trained claws-out? _Fireheart_ of all cats getting exiled?”

With everything laid out at once like that, Sandstorm was suddenly a little embarrassed she hadn't figured it out sooner. But it had happened slowly, hadn’t it? One thing at a time for moons until it all felt so _normal_. Especially because, without everything she’d learned, Fireheart really had looked like a traitor. But Yellowfang seemed to have thought otherwise since day one. Should she be ashamed for having assumed the worst of him so quickly?

“But… Yellowfang, you’re a medicine cat. If you speak, the Clan will listen,” Sandstorm said. “If you’ve known, why haven’t you done anything about it?”

Yellowfang sighed. “Will they really listen to me?” she said. “Or will Tigerstar whip them up into a paranoid fury? I’m running out of Clans to run to, kit. At least so long as I’m here I can make sure no cat gets hurt too badly.”

Sandstorm flattened her ears. Yellowfang sounded so beaten down. Was this how every cat felt? And if so, would it even be possible to fight back against Tigerstar? Or would every cat be too afraid of being the first to speak? She thought back to Cloudpaw and Darkstripe’s fight that spring, when the entire camp had watched Darkstripe get mauled without saying a word.

But she had to try, she thought.

“Yellowfang, everyone I trust - except you - has gone west,” Sandstorm said. “I-I need to speak with them. I can’t keep sitting here and hoping things get better. We need to do something.”

“Why are you telling me?” Yellowfang said.

“You’re a medicine cat,” Sandstorm replied. “If you tell Brightclaw you’re sending me on some sort of errand to get herbs from Cinderpelt or something, she’ll let me go, and it won’t seem suspicious.”

Sandstorm had worried, while thinking of this plan, that the medicine cat would simply refuse, citing the high risk of lying to Brightclaw and Tigerstar. But Yellowfang just nodded. “I haven’t been able to get up to the horsetail patch in a while, so if you could actually get some, that’d be a nice bonus.” Standing with a grunt, she added, “Well, come on, then, sharptongue. I’m sure you don’t want to waste daylight.”

Sandstorm followed Yellowfang out of the medicine den. Predictably, as they approached the gorse tunnel, Brightclaw trotted up to them. “Where are you going?” the enforcer said.

“I need some herbs Cinderpelt has, so Sandstorm is going to fetch them for me,” Yellowfang said mildly. She looked friendlier than she did most good days. Sandstorm wondered nervously if that would give them away.

Brightclaw’s eyes narrowed. “Why can’t you do it yourself?”

“Bad day for my limp,” Yellowfang said, curling her lips into a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t make it halfway up the ravine.”

Eyes flicking to Sandstorm, Brightclaw said, “And why her?”

Sandstorm tried not to swallow or twitch. Did that mean Tigerstar and his inner circle were suspicious of her? Did they know that she wanted them gone? Or was Brightclaw just showing her usual disdain for all the cats of the ravine camp?

Yellowfang seemed to take the question in stride, however. She snorted loudly. “You’re right,” she rasped. “I’ll just ask one of the dozens of other cats who’s free this afternoon.” The elderly molly scanned the camp. “Hey, Rookkit! Come here, I need you to trek out to the other camp for me!”

A tiny black kit jumped to attention, and started waddling across the camp - but didn’t get very far before its mother, Brindleface, pulled it back to her belly and shot Yellowfang a glare.

Brightclaw was glaring too. “Okay, I get the picture,” she said. To Sandstorm, she added, “Go ahead, but don’t dawdle.”

Sandstorm dipped her head and left, trying not to think too hard - _was that too formal? am I walking too fast?_ Once she was out in the forest, certain that no cat was around, she broke into a sprint. She didn’t want to waste any of her precious little time, and the feeling of being able to go where she liked on her own territory was both freeing and familiar, like visiting an old friend that’s been out of touch for months.

She slowed once she was approaching the Owl Tree. She wasn’t sure exactly where the other camp was, but following the stale scent trails of patrols was enough to lead her to the entrance. She poked her head in cautiously.

The camp was tiny compared to the ravine. It was built around the base of an elm tree, against which a small den was built. Next to that, on Sandstorm’s left, a much larger den stretched across. On the other side of the was a wide, flat stump, and a hollow log surrounded by ferns which stretched over to Sandstorm’s right side. In the clear space in the middle lay a small fresh-kill pile.

As she watched, a pair of kits rolled out from behind the stump, tussling. They looked to be about four moons old, and although she hadn’t seen them in ages, Sandstorm needed only to look at the tom’s tabby stripes to realize this was Tigerstar and Goldenflower’s litter.

“Hi there,” she said. “I need a word with Cinderpelt. Which of these is the medicine den?”

The tortoiseshell, who had landed on top of the tabby, spoke without taking her littermate’s ear out of her mouth. “Over there,” she said, pointing with her tail towards the large den on the left.

Sandstorm nodded thanks, wondering who was supposed to be watching the kits. It didn’t look like Goldenflower or Tigerstar were around, and there was no guard at the camp entrance. Was Cinderpelt supposed to be watching them?

Inside the medicine den, she found both Cinderpelt and Snowpaw sorting a stack of dried herbs. Sandstorm took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and said, “Hi, guys. Yellowfang wanted some herbs.”

Cinderpelt glanced up. “Oh, hi Sandstorm,” she said, leaning over and poking Snowpaw. 

The apprentice glanced up, first at her, then at Sandstorm. He gave her a sheepish grin and lifted his tail in greeting.

“What herb did you need?” Cinderpelt continued.

Sandstorm considered spilling her guts right then, but she still wasn’t sure if there were any cats in camp other than the kits - and she wasn’t sure how trustworthy the kits were, either. No, she needed to stick to her plan and hope it worked. Cinderpelt had had some warrior training, but Sandstorm didn’t know if Fireheart had covered tail signals with her before the accident.

“I think she was looking for horsetail,” Sandstorm said. As she spoke, she slowly and deliberately lifted her tail and curled it into a hook, the usual signal for _danger_.

Cinderpelt’s eyes narrowed. She touched her tail to Snowpaw’s side, and he looked at her intently as she spoke. “Snowpaw, could you get some horsetail for Sandstorm?”

He nodded, and turned towards a crack under the rock floor, reaching down for some herbs.

“How have things been in the ravine camp?” Cinderpelt said aloud. As she spoke, she twitched her whiskers and lifted one forepaw up near her face, so her pads were showing. It was a signal usually used by patrol leaders, to ask their patrol to listen carefully for danger.

Sandstorm could almost cry from relief that her plan had worked. “As fine as always,” Sandstorm said. She flicked her ear towards the entrance of the den and shook her head, hoping to indicate that she didn’t know whether or not any cat was listening.

Cinderpelt nodded. She took the horsetail from Snowpaw, sat back on her haunches and began moving her paws, tail, ears and whiskers rapidly. As she did, the deaf apprentice nodded along, looking just like a warrior apprentice taking orders. When Cinderpelt finished, he grabbed a ball of moss from the back of the den and scampered out the entrance.

“You look tired. Why don’t you have a drink and a little rest before you head back?” Cinderpelt said. Her tail bobbed - _enemy sighted_ \- and then curled over her back - _follow me_.

Sandstorm nodded. She let Cinderpelt show her to a small pool in the rock in the back of the den, and took a long, grateful drink before sitting back down in the grassy area. Cinderpelt returned to sorting the herbs. “Is Yellowfang all right?”

“A bit annoyed not to have an apprentice around, but she’s fine, really,” Sandstorm replied.

Cinderpelt nodded, satisfied. “What about Brackenfur and Thorntooth?” she said. “I miss seeing them around.”

Was the gray molly excluding her other littermate, Brightclaw, on purpose? Or, Sandstorm thought, did this just confirm her suspicion that Brightclaw regularly traveled to the Owl Tree camp to report to Tigerstar?

“I think Brackenfur’s got his eye on Willowpelt’s litter for an apprentice,” Sandstorm said.

“Jeez,” Cinderpelt sighed. “Tell him I said being a mentor’s not as much fun as it looks. I must have been such a hassle when I was younger. Now I know why -” Apparently realizing what she was about to say, the gray molly coughed. “Well.”

Sandstorm winced. 

Before the conversation could start back up again, Snowpaw reappeared in the den’s entrance, moss ball still in his mouth. He signed something to Cinderpelt. Sandstorm recognized one of the signs - a rippling tail for _move forward with caution_. Cinderpelt flicked an ear in acknowledgment and set aside her herbs.

In a low tone, Cinderpelt began to speak. “I sent Snowpaw to check if Darkstripe was still asleep. He’s in the warriors’ den,” she said. “Snowpaw will read your lips as you speak. What do you need to say?”

Sandstorm plunged forward before she could think too long on her words. “Fireheart was right,” she said quietly.

Cinderpelt leaned back. “I hope you have some pretty good proof, Sandstorm.”

“I do,” Sandstorm promised. “I’m about to say a lot of completely batshit crazy things, though, so I need you to just listen without interrupting for a moment so I can get through it all. Okay?”

Cinderpelt and Snowpaw both nodded, and Sandstorm took a deep breath.

“Back when Fireheart was first exiled, I had this dream,” she said. “It was of my father, and he was telling me to find Ravenpaw. I took a long time to actually do it, because I wasn’t sure what good going onto ShadowClan territory was going to do any cat - but then I found out the truth.

“Ravenpaw isn’t buried on ShadowClan territory, because he’s not dead at all. He’s been living in the barn with Barley for moons,” Sandstorm said.

At this, despite his promise not to interrupt, Snowpaw gasped. He tugged at Cinderpelt’s fur, and she turned to him. He signed something to her.

Cinderpelt’s expression changed from skeptical to surprised. “That’s right. He… he’s worried if he talks he’ll be too loud, but a while back, at his first half-moon meeting, we stopped at the barn after the meeting,” Cinderpelt said. “While I was talking to Barley, Snowpaw went hunting, and came back saying he’d seen a black cat who was hanging around the perimeter. Barley swore he’d never seen a cat like that before, and told Snowpaw he must have seen a ghost. We always thought that was funny, that maybe Barley was just embarrassed we’d seen his mate hanging around.”

“I’m sure that was him,” Sandstorm said. “He was probably hiding from you, since every cat thinks he’s dead, but I don’t think Barley’s a great liar.”

Cinderpelt flicked her tail. “That doesn’t prove anything, though.”

“Well, I spoke to Ravenpaw myself, and it turns out that Fireheart was right - Tigerstar did kill my father, and Ravenpaw was there to see it,” Sandstorm said. “I’m sure if you went to the barn and asked for him, he’d tell you.”

“Then who killed Oakheart?” Cinderpelt said.

“No one. He died in a rockfall before Tigerstar turned on Redtail,” Sandstorm said. “I asked RiverClan about it.”

“Hmm,” Cinderpelt said. She brought a paw to her chin, thinking. “You’re right, Sandstorm. This is troubling. But it’s not proof that Fireheart was right about anything else. For example, can you show that it was really Tigerstar’s fault that I hurt my leg?”

“I guess not,” Sandstorm said, her heart sinking. “But… you know Fireheart. He wouldn’t have killed Bluestar. And now we have reason to believe Tigerstar did.”

To Sandstorm’s surprise, she noticed that Cinderpelt was trembling. The gray molly drew in a shaky breath. “Obviously, neither of us knew him. Some cats are good at pretending to be good while they’re secretly planning terrible things.”

“Like Tigerstar?” Sandstorm hissed.

Cinderpelt looked away, absolutely refusing to meet Sandstorm’s eyes. After a few moments, Snowpaw touched his tail to her shoulder, and she turned to him. The white tom signed something to her, and Cinderpelt flattened her ears.

“Don’t be stupid. If Tigerstar knows you’re involved in a conspiracy to overthrow him, he’ll exile you in ten seconds flat,” she said.

Snowpaw signed something else, scowling.

Cinderpelt’s mouth pinched. “No you are _not_ ,” she snapped. “Don’t tell me what to do. Fireheart is a traitor, okay?” On the last word, her voice rose. Her eyes were wet, but she didn’t move, stiffly staring at Snowpaw.

“Cinderpelt…” Sandstorm began.

Before Sandstorm could say anything, though, a sneering voice came from the entrance of the den. “Teaching your apprentice about our Clan history, Cinderpelt?”

Sandstorm nearly jumped out of her skin, and spun to see Darkstripe. He looked at her with an unimpressed eye. “What are you doing here?”

“She was just leaving,” Cinderpelt said.

“Er, yeah,” Sandstorm said, heart sinking. She wanted to stay and try to get Cinderpelt to see her side, but now that Darkstripe knew she was here, she couldn’t take too long. She looked around for the horsetail.

Snowpaw picked it up in his mouth and trotted up to her side. “I go with. She needs help, carry herbs,” he announced to the room at large.

Darkstripe looked at each of them in turn, then shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and left the den.

Sandstorm glanced over her shoulder at Cinderpelt, but the medicine cat ignored her.

They weren’t far outside the camp when Snowpaw touched her shoulder and signaled to follow him. He led her to a nearby clearing and dropped the herbs.

“I believe you. I want to help,” Snowpaw said.

It took hearing the words for Sandstorm to realize how desperately she had needed them. She let out a breath she felt she’d been holding for moons, and blinked at him gratefully.

“What about Cinderpelt?” she said.

Snowpaw winced. “She’s sad. It’s hard before for her seeing Fireheart… isn’t good. Traitor," he added, his mouth moving strangely around the word as though it were unfamiliar. "Now she feels bad about thinking that’s true. Also she’s mad, didn’t see it herself. Tigerstar has done bad things… in…” he trailed off. “Don’t know word,” he muttered.

“Recently?” Sandstorm guessed.

“Yes.”

“So you think she might come around?”

“Maybe. Give her time,” Snowpaw said. Looking thoughtful, he added, “Might still not do anything until others do. She worries Tigerstar will hurt me… also maybe right about it.”

 _He said it so calmly,_ Sandstorm thought. How terrible a place had ThunderClan become, that an apprentice of only eight moons could just accept being always in danger from a Clanmate as _normal_? And from the leader, no less?

“Okay,” Sandstorm said. “When I’ve talked to some other cats, I’ll find some excuse to travel up here again, and we’ll talk.”

Snowpaw nodded seriously. “I’ll try to convince Cinderpelt also.” He paused, and stretched up to lick her ear. “Thanks for saying.”

Sandstorm nuzzled his shoulder. When he drew back, she said, “No problem. We should both probably move if we don’t want any cat to get suspicious.”

They parted ways, and Sandstorm picked up the horsetail, heading back for the ravine with a lighter step. Somehow, having just one ally in all this seemed to have turned the whole thing around.


	28. Tigerstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloudpaw earns his name. Tigerstar discovers his mistake.

It was a lovely morning for a ceremony, he thought. The air was hot & dusty, and the sun warmed his fur as he moved through the forest, but there was a nice wind keeping things from getting too terrible. 

Tigerstar was leading the way through the forest towards the ravine camp. Following him were Darkstripe, Cinderpelt, Ashpaw, and Swiftstrike, who had all wanted to be there - as well as the cat of the hour himself, Cloudpaw. They were headed to hold his warrior’s ceremony on the Highrock.

He had thought of holding it in the Owl Tree camp, on that damned little stump, but the fact was that that just didn’t seem right. For all the effort he’d put into making sure every cat knew the new camp was a camp as much as the ravine, there was just something wrong about holding a ceremony in a new place, especially a warriors’ ceremony. Hundreds of cats had gotten their full names below the Highrock; hundreds more probably would.

So he had announced his plan to the camp and asked who wanted to come along, and they had woken early to get to the ravine camp before the first patrols went out.

Tradition, however, was not his only motivation. The time had come for him to bring his rogues into the Clan. ThunderClan had finally become fully convinced of the danger presented by Fireheart, not just with a vague concern but with an underlying paranoia. Tigerstar had overheard a number of conversations worrying about the Clan’s enemies in recent days. They were ready for a cadre of strong warriors to come in, to back up his leadership and their security. He needed more Brightclaws, and so did the Clan, for their own mental wellbeing.

Cloudpaw’s ceremony would be a start in and of itself, though. Tigerstar glanced back at his apprentice. He was holding himself like a warrior already, and Tigerstar’s spirits lifted with pride.

As they arrived at the gorse tunnel, Tigerstar stepped aside and let the rest of the patrol file past him. He grabbed Cloudpaw’s shoulder as he passed, and the apprentice glanced up at him attentively.

“I am very proud of you,” Tigerstar said quietly.

Cloudpaw didn’t say anything, but he practically glowed.

“You have risen above your station in a way I didn’t think any cat could,” Tigerstar continued. “You may not have the blood of a warrior, but you have the spirit of one. You’re the bravest kittypet I’ve ever met.”

The apprentice’s eyes flashed. “Thank you,” he muttered, his voice rasping.

Cloudpaw looked away, and Tigerstar took it as impatience - he was, after all, delaying one of the most important events in a young cats’ life. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you wait. I just wanted you to know - you have weathered the storm, and you are special, even among ThunderClan.”

Cloudpaw glanced up again, now looking determined. “I can’t wait to serve you as a full warrior,” he said firmly.

Tigerstar nodded, and indicated with his tail for the apprentice to lead the way into camp.

On the other side of the gorse tunnel, the residents of the ravine camp were already congregated around the Highrock in a loose circle, many of them standing back to let the more important cats like Darkstripe have a good view. Brightclaw must have let them know that there was to be a ceremony today. Tigerstar brushed past them, around to the base of the Highrock. Its cool, smooth surface felt unfamiliar beneath his paws, after moons of making announcements from the tree stump, and yet it also felt deeply familiar in a way that only things touched by generations of one’s ancestors could be.

When he had reached the top of the Highrock, Cloudpaw had already taken his place beneath it, staring up at him with a mix of pride and apprehension. Tigerstar lifted his head and swept his gaze over the rest of the clearing. He was pleased to note the large number of kits peeking their heads out of the nursery - more ceremonies were on the way, if that was any indication - and Sandstorm and Dustpelt, sitting close together. All his best-laid plans were going exactly as he thought they should.

He refocused on Cloudpaw. Just a few moons prior, the apprentice had been cowering under the Highrock, waiting for a well-deserved punishment. Now he was one of the best cats in the Clan. Tigerstar cleared his throat. “I, Tigerstar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, harder than most, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.”

Tigerstar paused, letting the silence settle over the clearing slightly.

“Cloudpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Cloudpaw dipped his head. “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Cloudpaw, from this moment on, you will be known as Cloudstone. StarClan honors your resilience and strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

The camp exploded in cheers, and almost immediately, a number of cats swarmed forward to congratulate him personally. Tigerstar jumped down from the Highrock, but stood back and waited as Cloudstone affectionately nuzzled Brindleface and his adopted siblings. He felt something at his side, and turned to see that Brightclaw had sidled up next to him.

“It’s good to see him proving himself,” she said, jerking her head at Cloudstone.

Tigerstar nodded. “He’s a good warrior. As good as you,” he said.

Brightclaw’s face flashed with an expression that was gone too fast for him to identify. “Yes, well, he’s very new. We’ll see what happens when he’s actually in a fight,” she said.

“As far as I remember, we haven’t had a battle since you’ve been a warrior either, my dear,” Tigerstar said.

She dipped her head. “That’s right. I guess I still have room to prove myself as well.”

She seemed to be needling for praise, he thought, and the idea irritated him. Shouldn’t she know well enough what he thought of her by how he had given her so much trust and power in his Clan? Did she really need reassurance at every other second?

“You do,” Tigerstar replied gruffly. The cats gathered around Cloudstone had begun to siphon away, so he waved his tail to get the attention of his now-former apprentice. Cloudstone trotted up happily.

“Tell Darkstripe he can take the Owl Tree patrol home himself,” Tigerstar instructed. “I have a special mission to do this morning, and I want you - both of you-” he added, flicking his ears to Brightclaw, “with me for it.”

Brightclaw and Cloudstone both brightened considerably, then each took a moment to regard one another with something akin to suspicion. Tigerstar repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Go on, then,” he urged Cloudstone.

“Of course,” Cloudstone said, and he rushed off.

Brightclaw stayed silent, but he could feel her silent questioning. He had once had the same suspicions about Cloudstone - he was a kittypet, and had no right to be in the forest. But it had long since been proven that Cloudstone was some sort of exception to the rule of kittypets’ lazy, self-centered nature. It did no cat any good to keep regarding him as a risk.

“He has my trust as much as you do,” Tigerstar told her. 

Brightclaw flicked her tail noncommittally.

“I expect you to behave accordingly,” he said in a warning tone.

She exhaled hard through her nose. “Of course.”

Across the clearing, Cloudstone and Darkstripe parted, and Darkstripe called to the Owl Tree patrol to follow him back. Cloudstone came bounding up. “I’m ready to go.”

Tigerstar nodded. “Let me tell you what we’re doing on the way.”

They headed out into the forest east of the ravine. As they ventured further and further away from the more-used parts of the forest, Tigerstar kept an eye out for any patrols. Once he was confident that no cats were around, he began to explain.

“I have… allies who have been helping to defend our Clan from beyond its borders since before my leadership even began,” he said carefully. “I worried that the Clan might not understand their origins, or why they are now loyal to me, so I kept them a secret. But the time has come that if we do not incorporate them into ThunderClan, we could be in grave danger from traitors both within and without.”

“Fireheart,” Cloudstone growled enthusiastically.

Tigerstar nodded. “Yes, but others as well. I suspect there may yet be some cats in our Clan who are loyal to him.”

“I knew it,” Brightclaw hissed, so quietly he almost missed it. It was concerning to think she might have seen something going on and not reported it to him, so Tigerstar made a mental note to ask her about that later.

“Unfortunately,” Tigerstar said, “These cats are very strong, and very proud. I worry that I might show weakness by asking them for more help, so I knew I needed my two best warriors to come along as guards and as a show of strength.”

That part wasn’t strictly true. In reality, Tigerstar knew that he had pissed off Blackfoot at his last visit. He had gone too far in his veiled threats and passive insults. And though Blackfoot probably wouldn’t plan an attack himself, Tigerstar wouldn’t put it past some of the more volatile rogues not to take matters into their own paws if they felt Tigerstar was no longer on their side. Especially those former alley cats, who were part of some gang that Dustpelt had come back claiming had claws as long as eagles’ and collars studded with teeth.

So it was best to come back with a lot of muscle on his side, just in case they had all gotten together and decided to ambush him. It wasn’t paranoia, it was good planning.

“There is one thing that I need you both to do for me,” Tigerstar said, stopping short and turning to face them. Brightclaw and Cloudstone each stepped back, startled.

“I need you both to promise that you won’t tell any cat that we were on any sort of mission. As far as any other member of ThunderClan will know, we went hunting and ran into these cats by chance, and they asked whether they could join. That way, you see, the Clan will be more willing to accept them,” Tigerstar said.

Brightclaw nodded eagerly. “Because then instead of having been in a weak position and protected by others, the Clan will be the strong ones protecting the weak.”

Tigerstar nodded to her, unable to keep his satisfaction from reaching his face. “Exactly.” Cloudstone looked a bit sour.

“Do you both promise?” Tigerstar demanded. The warriors nodded, and Tigerstar turned and kept going.

The forest quickly faded into wetland as they headed further east, into the stretches of territory that ThunderClan typically ignored. They passed over the last of the border markers, and Tigerstar could not keep his hackles from raising. Despite all his preparation, he couldn't help but feel certain that something was about to go very wrong in the rogues’ camp.

Soon they came upon the ferns that marked the entrance to the camp. Tigerstar halted, and didn’t need to turn around to sense that Brightclaw and Cloudstone had stopped short just behind him. “Stay close to me,” he muttered, “and be prepared.”

Later, he would wonder how he hadn’t noticed the signs before. The scent of cat was mostly stale, the wetland territory was teeming with prey, and they hadn’t passed any tracks on the way in. But in that moment, Tigerstar was stunned into absolute dumbfoundedness as he entered a camp that was almost perfectly empty.

“Er… it seems your allies have moved along,” Brightclaw said. Tigerstar resisted the urge to turn and snap at her.

He scanned the camp, disbelieving that the rogues had simply… _gone_. They had nowhere to _go_. It was the crux of all his negotiations with them, that he was all they had. But all there was to see was a small mound of dirt, under which some prey was presumably buried. 

“Those traitors,” he growled. “I should’ve known they’d double-cross me.” He shut his eyes, trying to think. His plans would have to change, with fewer cats he could fully trust. Even with his eyes closed, blue flashed across his vision, and he screwed his eyes shut tighter, willing her out of his head.

There was a crashing ahead of him, and Cloudstone hissed. In a voice suddenly much smaller and more anxious, Brightclaw mewed, “Sir, I think we’ve got company.”

He opened his eyes, and found himself even more confused - the crashing had come from Clawface, scrabbling through what was left of the walls to arrive in the camp.

A thousand questions flashed through Tigerstar’s mind. He signaled Brightclaw and Cloudstone to step back, and they obeyed. Finally he said, “Are you all that’s left?”

Clawface’s eyes flashed over all of them in turn, looking as shocked as Tigerstar felt. Finally he settled into a look of righteous determination. “Jag is with me, too,” he said. “But don’t worry. We’re going to tell you _everything_.”


	29. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess comes to a decision. Fireheart’s emotions get the better of him. A rift grows smaller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I think “Fireheart’s emotions get the better of him” could be a summary for nearly every Fireheart chapter

Even in the marsh, the hot summer had begun to take a toll on the land. The ground no longer squelched down so much when a cat put his paw on it, and the number of frogs they found dried-out was rocketing upwards. Privately, though, Fireheart was grateful that he no longer had to clean mud out from between his toes every night before he went to sleep. He peered up at the sun above, yellow and bright, before retreating back into the thick brush where he and Mowgli were keeping a border watch.

“I think that hawk is gone,” he said. “I couldn’t see any sign of it.” Mowgli flicked an ear in acknowledgment, but his eyes didn’t leave the Thunderpath on the other side of the brush.

Wishing his companion was a little more verbose - or at least a little less nervous around him - Fireheart turned his focus to trying to find a comfortable spot to lie down. Though it was nice not lying in the mud, even he had to admit that border watches were much less tolerable when the ground was so hard and dry. He tapped the dusty earth with his paws a few times, trying to find a spot that was softer, before giving up and flopping down behind Mowgli. He made sure to stay back in the shadows, rather than creep up to the opening Mowgli was watching out of.

In recent days, with enough cats finally in camp to keep up on hunting patrols properly, Fireheart had finally been assigned to some border watches. Apparently, ShadowClan didn’t have the usual kind of border patrols at all. Instead, a single cat, or sometimes a pair, would sit along a stretch of border, keep themselves concealed, and keep an eye on things during the day. When he first learned of the idea, Fireheart had mentioned how as an apprentice he often felt like he was being watched then he walked along the Thunderpath, and Russetfur had laughed and said someone probably was watching him. It seemed that ShadowClan was less concerned about showing their strength to the other Clans by sending strong cats to waltz along the borders, and more concerned about stopping any intruders as soon as they arrived, even if they were at a less-obvious place to cross.

Border watches were, for the most part, fairly uneventful. A few times a day a patrol might come along, make a few comments about how weird ShadowClan was and how they felt unnerved, comments that Fireheart now had to smirk at. The cats at the ThunderClan border in particular seemed almost paranoid, with the amount of patrols that passed in a day and the way they peered nervously into the bushes. Fireheart wasn’t naturally good at sneaking around, what with his bright pelt, but he had learned to stay among the thickest bushes or to roll in mud when he needed to pass along a less-obscured path, and they didn’t notice him.

His train of thought was interrupted when he heard a sudden sharp intake of breath from Mowgli. He touched the other tom’s side and gave him a questioning look, and was answered with a nod towards the opening. Slowly and carefully so no cat would see him, Fireheart crept forward.

Coming along the Thunderpath, headed west towards Fourtrees, was a ThunderClan patrol. There were only three of them - Whitestorm, Brackenfur, and a smaller gray-speckled cat that Fireheart realized must have been one of Brindleface’s kits, now an apprentice. The smaller cat was bouncing along enthusiastically, and, pricking his ears, Fireheart caught a few snippets of their conversation - Whitestorm was casually quizzing them on the warrior code, and the apprentice was answering with eagerness but little accuracy. Fireheart stifled an amused purr, suddenly remembering his own days as a mentor with Cinderpaw and Cloudpaw. He wondered if they’d earned their names yet.

The thought sobered him, and he lost his sense of amusement at the patrol’s antics. Trying to keep his mind off of his former apprentices, he focused on Brackenfur, who had fallen behind somewhat, watching something over his shoulder.

“What are they waiting around here for?” Mowgli murmured, his amber eyes glinting anxiously.

Fireheart didn’t answer, but he was wondering that himself. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what Brackenfur was watching.

A moment later, another cat stumbled into view, dragging a thick bramble wrapped around one leg. Sandstorm stopped a few paces behind Brackenfur, who now looked a bit amused, and called out, “Could I get a bit of help here?”

She looked as irritated as she usually did, and the fondness that rose up in Fireheart's chest was immediately cut off by a deep sense of loss. He had heard that ThunderClan was going about their business without him, yes, but it was another thing entirely to see one of his best friends with his own eyes, acting as though he had never existed at all. He crawled even further forward, straining his hearing.

Whitestorm and the apprentice - who Fireheart now realized must be Ashkit, or rather Ashpaw - had returned, and Whitestorm now sat down and began to patiently unwind the bramble from Sandstorm’s leg. “How on earth did you manage this?” he said, and Fireheart was a bit startled to note that the older warrior wasn’t speaking in the teasing tone he might have expected, but instead just sounded rather tired. He wondered if Whitestorm’s age was beginning to catch up to him.

Sandstorm flattened her ears and wrinkled her nose as she spoke. “I’m not the one that led a patrol through a thicket,” she said, obviously annoyed. The apprentice snickered, earning themselves a sharp look from both Whitestorm and Brackenfur at once.

Brackenfur paced a few times, looking restless. Once the bramble was unwrapped from Sandstorm’s leg, he crossed behind her to sniff at the places where it had dug in. “You seem fine,” he said. “Not even bleeding.”

She nodded briskly. “Thank you, Whitestorm,” she said. Whitestorm said something Fireheart didn’t catch, and the three toms all started along the border again.

Sandstorm, however, seemed to have caught sight of something in ShadowClan territory. Suddenly realizing how close he was to the opening in the brush, Fireheart scooted backwards, hoping the movement wouldn’t attract her gaze. As much as he wished he could just go out there and speak to her - explain _everything_ to her - he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Sandstorm? You coming?” Brackenfur called back.

She flicked an ear in acknowledgment. “Yeah, yeah. I just… almost feel like there’s some cat there, watching us.”

The whole patrol turned to look, and Fireheart panicked. He scrambled backwards - only to bump into Mowgli, who was doing exactly the same. They each startled again, and Fireheart scuttled back further until he could no longer see or hear the patrol. 

He noted with some irritation that with his black pelt, Mowgli could easily have stayed put and even helped to hide him - but the annoyance faded as he realized the other tom had probably been just as panicked in the moment.

After a few minutes, Mowgli crept back up towards the opening in the bush. “I think they’ve gone,” he said.

Fireheart relaxed somewhat. “That almost went sideways,” he muttered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mowgli flinch. With alarm, Fireheart added, “My fault, not yours. I shouldn't have gotten so close, especially with my bright pelt and all.”

The black tom looked rather as though he wasn’t sure whether to agree or disagree, but finally managed a tight nod, and Fireheart’s heart sank as he realized that, yet again, Mowgli was expecting his new Clanmates to behave like rogues.

No cat had gotten Mowgli to speak much on his past, as he didn’t seem to like thinking about it much. As far as Fireheart could put together, the black warrior hadn’t been a former ShadowClan cat at all, but was native to the Twolegplace before being recruited by Tigerstar. As a result, he seemed skittish and uncomfortable around both the former rogues and the rest of the Clan, and both groups paid little mind to him.

They both fell into silence, and Fireheart settled back down into the dirt, staying behind Mowgli this time where his orange fur wouldn’t be easily noticed. Normally he enjoyed border watches - they were easy on his bad leg, and with the right companion or when one was alone and in a good mood, they could be quite fun. But Mowgli didn't seem interested in conversation, and in the silence, Fireheart’s mind wandered back to the ThunderClan patrol, and how easily their lives had moved on without him.

Finally, after trying to dismiss that topic from his mind several times, Fireheart became determined to focus on something else. He turned back to Mowgli. “Where does your name come from?” he said.

The other tom jumped, as though he hadn’t been expecting to hear Fireheart speak. Once he had settled down again, he gave an apologetic half-smile. “Er… I lived with Twolegs, when I was young. They called me this. I never really took another name…”

“Huh,” Fireheart said. He hesitated, unsure of whether he wanted to offer this information - but then it occurred to him that knowing their common past might get Mowgli to relax and open up a little more. “You know, I was a kittypet too, before I joined ThunderClan. My housefolk called me Rusty.”

As he’d expected, Mowgli perked up a bit, pricking his ears. “Where did you live?”

“In the southern neighborhood, on the other side of ThunderClan - my nest was just near their border, which is probably why I ended up there,” he replied. “What about you?”

“Pretty far east of here, down this highway - er, Thunderpath,” Mowgli said. As he spoke about his old life, the tremor seemed to lift from his voice. “I lived with this pair of housefolk, but then they had a kit, and it always got sick when I was around. So they sent me to this other place that had a lot of cats - and dogs, too - deep in the Twolegplace, and then to another family. But I always kind of wanted to live on my own, so I left the new housefolk quickly and became - well - I lived in the Twolegplace,” he stammered.

Fireheart got the sense that there was something Mowgli wasn’t telling him, but he decided not to push it. With the way the other tom was talking, he wondered if perhaps Mowgli’s skittish nature wasn’t just due to being uncomfortable around ShadowClan, but also because of something that had happened to him in between the time that he’d lived as a kittypet and whenever he joined up with Tigerstar’s gang of rogues. They fell into silence again, but now one which was more personable than before.

When the sun started to go down, and therefore no more patrols were forthcoming from the other Clans, Fireheart and Mowgli headed back to camp. Grateful for the chance to get a bit of exercise, Fireheart went after a few birds and voles, but his bad leg, stiff from a day of no activity, quickly protested so he stopped. 

As they approached the camp, Fireheart’s suspicion was quickly piqued as he noted that whoever was guarding the camp had abandoned their post. Moreover, he could hear some sort of a ruckus going on inside the camp.

“Do you think there’s been an attack?” he said aloud, anxiety spiking.

Mowgli pricked his ears. “Doesn't sound like fighting,” he replied, though his fur was rising. They sped up their pace a bit.

Upon reaching the camp they found not an attacking patrol, but rather, the Clan gathered around the announcement rock. Fleetwhisker was atop it, trying to get the rather agitated crowd to calm down.

Fireheart ran forward, weaving through the other cats until he found himself at the open space in the middle of the group, below the rock. There, he found Graystripe and… his sister?

Graystripe gave him a relieved and exasperated look, as Princess, who looked a bit nervous, shrank back towards the rock. “Thank StarClan you’re here, maybe some cat will listen to you,” Graystripe said.

“What’s going on?” Fireheart said.

Graystripe opened his jaws to speak, but stopped when Princess lightly tapped him on the side with her tail. She conjured up a determined expression, though Fireheart could still tell by her twitching whiskers that she was agitated. “I’m going to come live in the forest,” she said.

She stated it so matter-of-factly that Fireheart wondered whether he had somehow already been told and forgotten. He blinked. “Er… you are?”

Princess nodded, keeping her chin high. “I am,” she said. “For a lot of reasons. It might be a bit of a long story…” she trailed off, and glanced at Graystripe. He obviously noticed, and pressed close to her for just a brief moment. Instantly Fireheart understood.

About a thousand questions burst into his mind - _why now? are you sure? really sure? how are you going to join a Clan Graystripe and I aren’t even a part of - or if you aren’t, what even is your status, rogue, loner, stray? what’s going to happen to you when Tigerstar tracks me down?_ Suddenly extremely aware of every part of his face, Fireheart forced a smile. “That’s great,” he said.

His sister gave him a skeptical look - she’d noticed his hesitation - and instantly Fireheart knew they were going to have a longer discussion later.

Graystripe, watching them speak, gave Princess an affectionate glance, and a small part of Fireheart - a part he _wasn’t proud of_ \- wanted to scratch him.

Instantly, Fireheart backed up several paces, bristling but trying to stop himself. He was alarmed by how quickly he’d gotten upset. Why? He loved both Princess and Graystripe, so why did it bother him for them to…? He swallowed.

But, that small part of him reminded, Graystripe wasn’t exactly the most _responsible_ cat in the world. He had abandoned his apprentice, taken up with Silverstream, and left Fireheart to fend for himself more times in the past leaf-bare than Fireheart could count. What if he was a bad mate to Princess?

What if she came into the forest, putting herself in all sorts of danger just by being here, and ended up getting hurt somehow because Graystripe in his terrible way had left her on her own?

Fireheart shrank back, a little frightened by the force of his righteous anger. He went to the edge of the crowd even as it thinned slightly, following Fleetwhisker demanding they give Graystripe and Princess some space, and he found himself sitting next to Whitethroat and Littlecloud, who were too caught up in whispering to one another to pay him any mind. He breathed deep, trying to focus in a logical way.

“ _Thank_ you,” Fleetwhisker said, sounding annoyed. “Now can we please have this discussion in a _civil_ manner, for StarClan’s sake.”

“I’m just saying,” Russetfur began, sounding as though she had tried to make a point several times, “we really don’t have the resources to feed a cat that can't hunt for herself - we’ve only _just_ gotten round to properly hunting for ourselves again. Until she learns warrior skills, she’ll be a dead weight on the Clan.”

Fireheart winced at her tone - Russetfur could be extremely stubborn in an argument, and he got the idea that she wasn’t going to back down unless completely outnumbered.

“That’s a load of big talk coming from you, former kittypet yourself,” Ratclaw said loudly. Russetfur whipped around to face him, her pupils slitting.

“When Bouldernose and I joined the Clan,” she said, “it was prosperous and strong. Would you say that’s still true?”

Ratclaw looked as though he’d like to argue, but Russetfur’s fierce expression seemed to make him think better of it.

“Back then, there was always plenty of prey left over in the evening that we could live off if we couldn’t manage to hunt for ourselves, so it was no trouble to the Clan to train us. But now the marsh is drying up, and there are enemies on all sides - we can’t afford to support a cat that can’t fight. If _she_ joins now,” Russetfur added, jerking her head towards Princess, “she’ll be taking food away from Cedarkit and Cinnamonkit.”

“Now hold on just a minute-” Graystripe began, hackles raising, and the Clan erupted into angry arguing again.

Fireheart took a moment to flatten his fur and try to calm down. He was still reeling from his own emotional reaction to the situation, and it seemed that the rest of the Clan hadn’t taken things much better, even if it were for different reasons.

When he glanced over, he caught Graystripe giving him an exasperated look - like, _come on, speak up!_ But he wasn’t sure whether he could say anything that any cat would listen to, and what was more, he wasn’t sure if he really was in favor of his sister joining the Clan. Anger was still roiling in his stomach, though he tried to push it down.

 _Well, hold on_ , he thought, stopping himself. He wasn’t _against_ Princess becoming a Clan cat. That would be ridiculous. Was he? His sister could make decisions for herself, and he had no right to go keeping her away from something that she wanted.

It was just that he was worried she was doing this for the wrong reasons - padding after Graystripe rather than actually wanting to take on the responsibilities and danger of becoming a warrior. And he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Graystripe in his infinite wisdom had led her down that path of thought.

 _That’s not fair_ , he told himself, but he was still uneasy.

Graystripe and Princess were both looking at him now, he realized, probably trying to figure out why he wasn’t saying anything. He tried to look supportive and went up to stand beside them.

The Clan had quieted a little bit, and when Fireheart stepped up as though he had something to say they stopped arguing entirely. His pelt prickled with nervousness, wondering whether he was going to accidentally let his true feelings slip.

“I get what you’re saying, Russetfur,” he said, giving her a nod, “but doesn't every cat need training at first? You and I were both just the same as Princess when we joined.”

Russetfur wrinkled her nose, but said nothing.

“The point of a Clan is that its warriors are all trained to be able to fend for themselves, but they each choose to provide for others who can’t,” he added. “Otherwise, we’re all just a lot of rogues who live in the same place.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Graystripe said emphatically, shooting Fireheart a grateful glance. Fireheart managed a smile back.

Russetfur chewed her lip - Fireheart got the feeling that, in classic Russetfur fashion, she still thought she was right but couldn’t think of anything more to say. He glanced around, looking for any other dissenters. To his surprise, Tallpoppy didn't seem wary of Princess at all, and rather was looking at her rather curiously - he recalled how suspiciously the tabby queen had treated him when he first arrived. _Maybe she just didn’t like_ me, he thought with amusement.

Though some other cats - Rowanberry, Ratclaw, and Fernshade especially - all looked as though they weren’t entirely happy with the situation, they held their tongues. Fleetwhisker jumped down from the rock.

“If that’s that,” the medicine cat said, sounding a bit irritated, “can we please get on with assigning hunting patrols? We’re not going to have any back by moonhigh at this rate.”

“Hold on. Is she staying, then?” Russetfur said.

“I don't see why not,” Fleetwhisker shot back.

“But who’s going to teach her to hunt?”

“I’m sure Graystripe and Fireheart will,” Fleetwhisker said, glancing at them. “Are we settled, then?”

It seemed that no one had any more objections. Fireheart went to nuzzle his sister and greet her properly, hoping his gut feeling was more wrong than it felt.

—

A few mornings later, Fireheart woke, suddenly aware of not being alone in his den - and then a white paw jabbed him in the side, accompanied by an impatient snort.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he complained, opening one eye to prove it. “Can't we have something to eat first?”

“You know, I assumed that when you went and joined the forest cats, you would stop being such a lazybones,” Princess teased. His eyes drifted closed, and she prodded him again. Shaking his head to clear the sleep from it, Fireheart stood up, yawned, and gave his chest a few quick licks.

“The fresh-kill pile is empty,” she added, by way of answering his question. “I think Oakfur might still be out, but do you really want to wait around for him to get back?”

The answer was not really. “He's still out?” Fireheart said. “How early have you got me up?”

“It’s dawn,” Princess said. “Again, really thought you might be more used to it given your ‘active warrior lifestyle.’”

Fireheart stifled a yawn, not eager to give her any more ammunition to work with. He stretched his bad leg out, feigning thoughtfulness and trying to avoid getting sore later this afternoon. 

In reality, he just wasn't used to such active duties after months of resting up on Fleetwhisker’s orders. Although Graystripe was supposed to be helping out, it seemed the duty of training Princess up had mostly fallen to Fireheart.

He appreciated the opportunity to spend a lot of time with his sister. But some part of him couldn’t help but be reminded of those long days last winter, mentoring two apprentices on his own while Graystripe went off across the river. That comparison wasn’t fair - he knew it wasn’t - the only reason Graystripe wasn’t helping was because he didn’t have time to, with the Clan still relying heavily on him to hunt, and Fireheart’s regular need for lighter duties meant that mentoring was an easy task for him. But a familiar little pit of resentment curled up in Fireheart’s stomach anyways, and he was starting to question if it had ever actually left at all.

“All right,” he said, clearing his thoughts, “we’ll hunt on the way.” He led the way out of the den. As they crossed through camp, he noticed Mowgli, who was drowsily washing himself. The black-pelted rogue was alone, and he didn't look busy.

Since speaking to Mowgli on their border watch, Fireheart had had a small hunch about him - that the former rogue had never been properly trained in hunting or fighting by any cat. He wondered if it was partially affecting his confidence and the way he saw himself in comparison to his Clanmates.

“Hey there,” Fireheart called out. “You busy?”

Mowgli glanced over his shoulder, as though he expected that Fireheart were speaking to some other cat. “Er… no?” he said.

“Great,” Fireheart said. “Princess and I are going up to the Burnt Sycamore to work on her battle skills. Do you want to come?”

The black cat flattened his ears, scooting backwards. “No, I’m fine,” he said. “I already know how to fight, and, you know, I probably ought to be doing other things.”

Fireheart frowned, flicking his tail. Princess stepped up beside him. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” she said gently. Her tone was like that a mother might use with a frightened kit. “If you beat me, I’ll change out your bedding for you.”

“Gross, why would you _offer_ that?” Fireheart said. His sister stuck her tongue out at him.

Mowgli glanced between the pair of them, looking rather awkward. “Um… I suppose,” he said. “But not for very long.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t get bored,” Princess said. “Fireheart's a great teacher.”

With that, Mowgli dipped his head, and he fell into step a few paces behind them as they made their way across the territory. Fireheart was reminded of his own early days in the forest, as Princess enthusiastically sniffed the air at every turn. She seemed determined to remember the way on her own, so Fireheart at first let her lead - until she began guiding them towards Highstones, at which point Fireheart took back control of the patrol.

They soon arrived at the Burnt Sycamore, and the hollow was predictably empty. With no other cats training anymore, they had had the Burnt Sycamore almost entirely to themselves. It wasn’t extremely helpful for hunting training due to the lack of undergrowth - or prey - but Fireheart found that the small hill and bumpy ground made for interesting and realistic battle training.

He wasn’t sure where Mowgli’s skills were, and Princess’s battle moves were worse than the kits’, but he figured they’d both get bored quickly with memorization, so he settled in the shade of one of the sycamore’s roots and told them to spar to warm up. At first, both seemed hesitant, but they quickly got into it, jumping back and forth quickly to avoid one another’s blows. Fireheart watched for moves he could correct later when suddenly he spotted it - a flash of blood streaking through the air - and heard his sister yelp -

Without thinking about it, Fireheart jumped in, shouldering Mowgli aside and placing Princess behind him. He snarled at the former rogue, who had fallen aside to the ground, and was now looking up with wide, round amber eyes. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

“I-I thought we were battle training,” Mowgli stammered.

“What’s wrong with-” Fireheart cut himself off midsentence as the extent of Mowgli’s fright sunk in on him. He forced himself to flatten his fur, but his heart was still racing. Glancing back at Princess, he said, “Are you all right?”

She looked shocked and confused, but not too scared. “Yeah, fine,” she said. She held up her foreleg, where a small nick, about a mousetail long, had been dug into her skin. “It was barely anything.”

Fireheart took a deep breath. He turned back to Mowgli. “I don’t know what you were thinking,” he said, “and I don’t know what battle training meant to you in the Twolegplace, but we don’t do that here. Not in the Clans. It’s not right.”

“O-Okay,” Mowgli said, ears flattened to his head.

Fireheart’s heart sank. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said.

If it were possible, Mowgli’s eyes grew wider. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I was just freaked out. But I think I now I’ve freaked both of you out.” He leaned down and nosed Mowgli to his feet. “You can go back to camp if you like.”

Mowgli, now standing, was still staring at him with round eyes. “You’re…You’re actually sorry, aren’t you?” he said.

“Er, yeah,” Fireheart said.

“They never were before. The.. The cats I trained with in the Twolegplace,” Mowgli said. He looked wonderingly up at the Burnt Sycamore. “No, I think I won’t go back to camp.”

“Okay,” Fireheart said. “Okay. I really am sorry.”

“Fireheart,” Princess cut in, “it's okay. You were just scared. Let’s just get back to it.” He nodded, and couldn’t help but be surprised a little at how easy it came.

—

That evening, after a long day of training, the three of them started back to camp. Princess’s skills hadn’t really improved significantly - she was still having trouble mastering the basics, like front paw swipes and hunting crouches, so the advanced concepts evaded her - but Mowgli had become noticeably more confident over the day. It seemed that every time he succeeded in something, or heard a kind word from either of his companions, his spirit was bolstered.

Princess and Mowgli were chatting amiably as they left the Burnt Sycamore, but soon she said something quietly to him, and the black tom nodded and sped up, and Fireheart's heart skipped a beat, as he nervously realized his sister wanted to have a word with him.

She’d noticed how upset he was when she came, he knew. And she’d realized how on edge he’d been in the past few days, and she wanted to confront him over it and ask why he was mad.

The fact was, though, that Fireheart didn’t have an easy answer for her. His feelings were a tightly-wound mess, and he preferred not to try to unpeel them.

So as she dropped back to match her pace to his, he decided to speak first. “Why did you join? You said there were a lot of reasons,” he said.

Princess shot him a look. “You’re worried I’m just here because of Graystripe,” she said.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, a little defensively.

His sister sighed. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you and tell you he’s not part of the reason I'm here. I would never have made this decision if not for Graystripe encouraging me.”

 _That wasn't what I wanted to hear_ , Fireheart thought, swallowing.

“But…” Princess said, interrupting his thoughts. She glanced upward, her eyes tracking a small, fluffy cloud being buffeted south by the wind. Against the purpling sky, it looked lovely. “I think I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I just needed someone to push me into it. I was too nervous to make the decision for myself.”

“What about when you gave me Cloudpaw?” Fireheart said. “If you wanted to leave, you easily could have then - it would’ve certainly been easier and made more sense than giving away your firstborn son. Surely that’s when you would’ve left, if you wanted to.”

She glanced at him, her green eyes clear. “I thought about it,” she admitted. “But I just couldn’t do it, not without some other cat telling me I could. Giving you Cloudpaw was like compromising with myself. It wasn’t very practical, but I thought if I did that I could move on and be done with the whole idea. And then I had to focus on raising kits, and then suddenly you and Graystripe were in my garden half torn apart.”

A panicked thought rose in Fireheart’s chest, one that hadn’t occurred to him before. “You didn’t leave the rest of your litter behind, did you?” he said.

Princess looked at him with wide eyes. “Fireheart, kittypets go to live with new Twolegs once they reach two or three moons. My other kits haven’t lived with me in ages,” she said.

He felt a bit foolish. “Oh, right.”

Fireheart hadn’t really seen his sister angry before, but now she seemed to grow frustrated. “Yes, _right_ ,” she said. “You know what? This is really the problem. You don’t trust me to take care of myself at all. You think I’m just some - some stupid kittypet!”

“No!” Fireheart said, stopping in his tracks. “Princess, look, you’re much smarter than me. You always figure things out before me.”

“But you _don’t_ trust me to take care of myself,” she said. Fireheart winced. Maybe that was more true than it should be. He thought for a moment of her terrible warrior skills - but then immense guilt washed over him. Was he really thinking of his sister like just a kit he needed to care for? She was right about him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, I haven’t trusted you as much as you deserve.”

“Thank you,” she said. They paused and, hesitantly, Fireheart started walking again. Princess joined him. But the silence hanging in the air between them still felt thick and confusing.

“Princess, I’m _glad_ you’re here,” Fireheart said. “I shouldn't have made you feel any other way. It was stupid.”

She sighed. “For what it’s worth, I understand why you’re worried. I know the forest is a dangerous place…”

“It's a dangerous place, yes,” Fireheart interjected, “but it’s more dangerous than it’s ever been right now. Tigerstar wants me dead, and every cat on his side of the Thunderpath is cooperating with that goal. If he ever finds me, and my kittypet sister is hanging around - he’ll tear you open in half a second. I… I can’t let that happen to you. You’re one of the only cats I have left.”

Princess was quiet for a moment, contemplatively watching the grass beneath them as they walked. Finally she said, “You’re right. We’re in a lot of danger, all the time, and… it's okay to be worried about that. I thought about that before leaving, but I understand why my choice may have seemed… a bit dumb, from your perspective.”

He opened his jaws to reassure her that she wasn't being dumb, but she looked up and looked him in the eye, expression firm. “But I’ll tell you you’re wrong about one thing, Fireheart,” she said. “You have plenty of cats on your side. Every cat in ShadowClan goes silent when you speak. It’s not just me and Graystripe anymore - you have this whole Clan.”

Fireheart felt a prick of guilt at her words - she didn't understand _why_ he had the Clan - but still, they brought him a sense of relief as well. She pressed up against him, purring, and he glanced up the trail ahead. In the deepening twilight gloom, he thought he saw fireflies.


	30. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandstorm has a series of strange encounters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the owl in this chapter is a long-eared owl, which I decided after describing its eyes as amber and then thinking, "wait, is that a color owls' eyes can be?" The answer is apparently yes, but only for two of the species in Britain.

Just as Sandstorm had thought that things couldn’t get any stranger or any worse, they changed again, even more alarmingly than before.

To be fair, she told herself, she hadn’t been paying much attention to Tigerstar’s changes before - when they were done so slowly, and when he was always there to justify them with his silver tongue, nothing seemed quite so _off_. But now she knew the truth, and her eyes and ears were open.

It was a hot, clear evening about a week after Cloudstone’s warrior ceremony. Sandstorm was crouching next to the warriors’ den, a half-eaten rabbit beside her, long forgotten. She was watching Brightclaw, who, across the camp, was chatting amiably with a dark ginger tom.

Tigerstar had introduced the tom as Jag, a name that was both bizarre and, as it turned out, apt. Supposedly he had run into a pair of rogues while patrolling with Cloudstone and Brightclaw after the ceremony, and offered them a place in the Clan. Knowing everything she did, though, Sandstorm had to question that story.

Especially suspicious was that neither she, nor anyone else in the ravine camp, had caught even a single glance at the other rogue yet. All they knew was that his name was Scratch, which was almost as stupid as Jag.

Something brushed up against Sandstorm’s side, and she nearly jumped out of her skin before turning to see Dustpelt, who had wordlessly settled next to her. They stared at one another for a few moments before Dustpelt nodded to the rabbit and said, “Er… are you going to eat that?”

“Have it,” Sandstorm said. He pulled it over to himself and started eating, and she felt a little guilty that she hadn't offered to share earlier.

Things had gone back to a weird kind of normal between them, if normal was when you always cut off your sentences halfway through and avoided telling your best friend any of your actual problems, just kept sitting next to them and sitting next to them and hoping they’d spill their guts first.

Okay, maybe not that normal.

She wasn’t still - _mad_ at Dustpelt, exactly, but she still wasn’t sure if she could trust him, and there hadn’t been a single moment where she could speak to him about their fight without cats listening in. And he had obviously noticed how weirdly she was acting, but he didn’t speak a word about it, acting like he wasn’t at fault for anything and he was just waiting for her to apologize. Mouse-brain.

Not that she even wanted him to do anything, because he was loyal to Tigerstar anyways. And StarClan knew he was almost as stubborn as her, and if she couldn’t even convince Cinderpelt then how was she supposed to get Dustpelt on her side?

He prodded her. “You sure you don’t want any?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

He shrugged. “More for me, then.”

Sandstorm put her head down on her paws and focused firmly on Brightclaw and Jag’s conversation across the camp.

Jag had been introduced to the ravine camp as just a regular rogue recruit, but it quickly became clear that Tigerstar was using him as another enforcer like Brightclaw. Now that there were two of them, it was twice as hard to have a private conversation - though Sandstorm had recently told Yellowfang everything, they hadn’t had another chance to discuss things, at least not without immediately being interrupted by Brightclaw or Jag strolling into the medicine den and casually inserting themselves into the conversation.

And, if they had thought that Brightclaw had been bad enough on her own - Jag seemed much more enthusiastic to lay down the law on Tigerstar’s behalf. He hadn’t struck any cat yet, but the ginger tom tended to slide his claws out when things weren't going his way, and he had taken to escorting cats to the dirtplace when they got up to go in the night, claiming that he was worried about the threat of foxes.

It was half humiliating, half terrifying. Sandstorm fucking hated him.

“Sandstorm, are you all right? You look a bit, err…” Dustpelt trailed off.

Smoothing her fur, Sandstorm glanced at him. “I’m fine,” she said tiredly.

“Good, because I think you might be late for your dusk patrol,” he said.

She wanted to kick herself. “Right,” she said. “Okay. Thank you.”

She slipped across the camp, heading up the gorse tunnel - she was supposed to meet the rest of the patrol at Sunningrocks. _Great job, Sandstorm,_ she thought, _you’re so busy focusing on all the people you don’t like you can’t even keep up on your duties. What kind of warrior are you, anyways?_

This wasn’t helpful, she realized. She had to keep focused or she was going to become totally useless.

She made it over to Sunningrocks before the sun had dipped too low in the sky, but it was still obvious by the time she got there that the patrol had been waiting for her. Darkstripe was pacing along the base of the rocks, his tail flicking from side to side impatiently. On the rock itself, Whitestorm was washing his ears, and Cloudstone was dozing off in a spot that had probably been sunny when they were actually supposed to leave in the early evening.

Sandstorm raced up to Darkstripe, ears flat, ready to be chewed out. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she panted.

Darkstripe gave her a nasty look, but then he glanced up at the sun - which was already beginning to descend below the tree line - and the rest of the patrol, and simply said, “Better late than never. Let’s get moving.”

Whitestorm roused Cloudstone with a few prods, although the younger tom seemed quite lethargic - he stretched a couple times before finally standing and jumping off the rock, while Darkstripe paced the entire time. Sandstorm sat down, her tail folded over her paws. Darkstripe was the deputy - why didn’t he just order Cloudstone to get his furry ass in gear?

Finally the patrol set off for Fourtrees, though their clip was hardly anything to be desired. Cloudstone insisted on stopping to hunt around the stepping stones, and kept hanging back, his pace irritatingly leisurely. Still Darkstripe did nothing, though his annoyance was growing more and more obvious.

Sandstorm was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable with the strange power dynamic. The next time Cloudstone started to fall behind, she matched her pace to his.

“Hey there,” she murmured. “How’s it been going?”

Cloudstone ignored her.

Sandstorm swallowed what felt like a rock. What on earth had happened to the cat she’d trained at Sunningrocks last spring? She sped up to nose him in the neck. “Cloudstone, have you been all right? she said insistently. ”I haven't really spoken to you in ages.“

Cloudstone jumped away from her. “Leave me alone,” he snapped. “I don’t need your help anymore; I’m a warrior, and I weathered the storm.”

At Cloudstone’s louder tone of voice, Darkstripe’s head swung around, his yellow eyes burning with triumph. Sandstorm quickly backed up, hoping he wouldn’t be too harsh. But to her surprise, his eyes were fixed not on her, but on Cloudstone, his mouth curling into an ugly, smug smile.

“No talking on patrols. If I hear another peep out of you, I’ll have to report you to Tigerstar,” the deputy said.

Cloudstone growled, but did not say a word. When the patrol started again, he stayed lagging behind, but no longer slowed them down.

It was hard for Sandstorm to think on what had just happened. She knew this must be a continuation of some sort of ongoing struggle in the other camp - that much was obvious. But it was unsettling to think that Cloudstone had gone from an innocent apprentice that needed her help to the spoiled, entitled cat she saw before her - was she overreacting? Was this just what it was like to see kids grow up? Or had he been negatively influenced by Tigerstar?

She tried to put it from her mind. Clearly Cloudstone was not to be trusted now… but she still had an opportunity to reach out to Whitestorm. She approached him as they started up the hill to Fourtrees.

“I have something I must tell you. We have to be very quiet,” she whispered. He nodded, and she continued, “I have strong reason to believe Tigerstar killed Redtail and Bluestar.”

Whitestorm gave her a very alarmed look, but kept his promise of staying silent. They slowed down, allowing Darkstripe and Cloudstone to draw ahead slightly.

“Ravenpaw is alive. He’s living at the barn, and he witnessed Redtail’s murder,” Sandstorm said.

“And Bluestar?” Whitestorm said. He looked ashen, the whites of his eyes showing just enough to reveal how shaken he was.

“I mean… you can’t tell anyone this,” Sandstorm said, suddenly unsure. Whitestorm was in the Owl Tree camp, after all. But if she couldn’t trust him, she couldn’t trust anyone. “I know where Graystripe and Fireheart are. They’re together, and they were taken in by ShadowClan. They wouldn’t take them in if they thought they were murderers. ”

He scoffed, very quietly. “ShadowClan?” he said.

Sandstorm’s hackles rose slightly. “Yeah, ShadowClan,” she said.

“Sandstorm, they only recently drove out Brokenstar,” Whitestorm said.

She lashed her tail. Wasn’t he going to listen to her? Was this just going to be like Cinderpelt again? “I can tell you all of my evidence, not right now, there’s no time - but it’s true. Don’t you trust me?”

Whitestorm glanced away. “This isn’t about me trusting _you_.”

She looked ahead - Darkstripe and Cloudstone were pulling ahead into the dusky forest, leaving them to speak in peace. “If it’s not about that, then what is it about?” Sandstorm said. “Because Tigerstar is putting this whole Clan in danger. We need to do something about it.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” Whitestorm said.

“How not?” Sandstorm hissed. “He killed someone. That’s pretty black-and-white.”

“Because he’s Tigerstar,” Whitestorm said, his yellow eyes dark. He swung his head away, and though he was a good head taller than Sandstorm, he suddenly seemed small. “He...” The older tom trailed off.

He glanced back at her. His expression was so intense that Sandstorm felt like she was an apprentice being surprised with a pop quiz again. “If it were Dustpelt,” he said, “would you be able to accept that he had done something so terrible? Could you turn against him just like that?”

Fur rose on her hackles, and Sandstorm pushed down a damning feeling of guilt. Was she asking too much? But… Dustpelt wasn’t like Tigerstar… was he? How far had he gone on those secret missions into Twolegplace? How much further would he go, on his leader's orders?

No. “That’s ridiculous,” Sandstorm spat. “Because I would never have to, because I choose my friends well enough that I never have to worry that they’re _murderers_.”

Whitestorm looked at her mournfully, and she hated that she knew what he was thinking. But it was different. She had proof that Tigerstar had done something terrible, and Dustpelt - well, he just wouldn't.

There was a rustle in the bushes ahead - Darkstripe had returned, Cloudstone trailing along behind him. The deputy glanced between them. “What’s going on back here?” he snapped.

“I thought I smelled something strange,” Sandstorm said quickly. She peeked at Whitestorm out of the corner of her eye, trying to stop her tail from twitching. He looked so tired and beaten down, even more than usual. But he also didn’t look as though he had changed his mind. Would he back her up?

Darkstripe snorted at her answer, clearly not believing her. He turned to Whitestorm.

“Yes, it was a false alarm,” Whitestorm said. 

Darkstripe didn’t seem satisfied, but he shrugged and turned away - much to the obvious chagrin of Cloudstone. As the patrol started up again, Sandstorm trailed in the back. This wasn’t the first time Darkstripe had purposefully decided not to pursue obvious rule-breaking. Maybe he was a potential ally - as smarmy and weird as he was, she needed all the help she could get.

But then, she’d thought she could trust Whitestorm, hadn’t she? And, of all cats, he seemed unwilling to listen. She gave the back of his head a baleful glance.

It was ridiculous, to say that Dustpelt and Tigerstar would ever be alike. Tigerstar was one thing. He was… well, him. A powerful warrior, to be sure, but rumors had always floated around that he struck a bit too hard in battle, kept enemies pinned after they had already tried to flee. Hell, his cover story for Redtail’s murder had been that he’d killed Oakheart for revenge.

But Dustpelt… he was an honorable cat. She had _grown up_ with him. Sure he could be a bit of an ass, but he wouldn't do anything like that, and he could never support a cat that had. Right?

Sandstorm made her return journey to camp alone, and miserable. Suffice it to say that things weren’t going as she’d wanted. Even the sense of a light at the end of the tunnel she’d found in the allyship of Snowpaw and Yellowfang was quickly evaporating. What was she going to do with no one on her side but two medicine cats, one ancient and arthritic, the other deaf and barely trained? She needed _real_ warriors on her side.

Something moved in the dark, and Sandstorm jumped. Heart racing, she dove under a bush and, after a moment, stuck her head just out from the branches to watch for danger. Above her, there was a fluttering of wings and a soft, trilling _hoo_. An owl.

It must not have seen her, to land so close - predators didn’t usually like to approach other predators. Still, the sight of it made her shudder. She didn’t like owls. Their long, curved claws, the beaks that flashed in the moonlight as they tore at the flesh of mice - and kittens. The disturbing way their heads swiveled too far and their amber eyes never blinked. If Sandstorm had been the one to name the beasts of the forest, she would have called them monsters, not the things on Thunderpaths.

Slowly, Sandstorm crept out from the bush, hoping she wouldn’t frighten the bird and cause an attack. But as she stood up again and stared up at it, it didn’t move. As she watched, the bird lifted its head like it was stretching out its neck, then leaned over, eyes keen on her.

The last time she had been this close to an owl, she had been an apprentice. In the dead of leaf-bare, the fresh-kill pile had finally been empty enough for the third rule of the warrior code to be invoked, and she, Dustpaw, and Ravenpaw had gone in for the night on empty stomachs alongside the warriors. But neither she nor Dustpaw had been able to fall asleep, thanks to the clawing hunger in their bellies.

They had stayed up till moonhigh, waiting for Thrushpelt, who was on guard, to fall asleep. He was so old that it was easy to sneak out when he was the one on guard - if his narcolepsy didn’t betray him, his cataracts did. She and Dustpaw went out the gorse tunnel just in front of him, and managed to hold in their thrilled giggles until they’d made it to the top of the ravine.

From there, Dustpaw led the way. On patrol earlier that day, he told her, he had spotted a bird’s nest in the highest branches of the trees, but Redtail had forbidden him from climbing up to fetch the eggs. If they could just find the nest again, they’d have a feast - and they could even bring some back for poor Ravenpaw, who was already too skinny for his own good.

As inexperienced apprentices bumbling along in the dark, they should have gotten lost on the territories, but through some miracle Dustpaw found the nest again and Sandpaw, eager to show off her agility, volunteered to make the climb. When she reached the nest, though, instead of eggs two owlets, still half-downy, looked back at her with eyes almost as wide as hers.

 _Perhaps we can eat one of them,_ she had thought foolishly.

Then several things happened at once. She heard an alarmed cat’s screech from the ground, and a similar, more terrible one from the air as a dark shape descended on her. A force slammed into her, claws raking her shoulder, and she was flung backwards into the dark. For a second she was certain she was going to die. But her frantic scrabbling in the air paid off as her forepaws hooked into a branch and she hung there, helplessly waving fox-lengths above the ground. The adult owl, in the nest, spread its wings and dove for her.

But before it reached her, something dark leapt between them with a terrible snarl and swiped at the owl’s face - and the great bird veered away, screaming with pain, its blood dripping onto the snow. It ascended above the trees, its cries for help echoing eerily in the silent forest. Somehow, miraculously, Dustpaw had sprinted up the tree and held the great bird off.

He hauled her up onto the branch. “We’d better go before it comes back with friends,” he had said.

They’d rushed home, food no longer even a glimmer in their hearts, and before they both fell asleep Sandpaw had said, “We can never tell anyone about this.” She’d made him promise.

And he had kept his promise, even a few days later when Tigerclaw led a patrol to bring down the owl - even when, in his report to Bluestar, Tigerclaw had mentioned he wouldn’t have been able to kill it if some cat hadn’t already blinded it in one eye.

Sandstorm blinked. In her moment of reminiscence, the owl had disappeared without a trace. She wondered whether it was one of the owlets she’d encountered those many moons ago. 

She trudged through the forest. The dry grass of summer was nothing like snow, but somehow she couldn’t stop thinking of her and Dustpelt’s frantic journey home after their night out - and the promise they’d made afterwards. It had been about more than the owl.

If she couldn’t trust him, she couldn’t trust any cat. He was no murderer, and he wouldn’t support a cat who was - no matter what Whitestorm said. This fight was stupid. It was time to put an end to it.


	31. Tigerstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tigerstar gets yelled at. Bramblekit goes on an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “what’s a little homoeroticism between bros” - whitestorm and tigerstar

“Er, Tigerstar? Did you still want to go on the water patrol?”

Cloudstone had come to wake him, as he’d asked him to. He lifted his head - Tawnykit mewled a bit in protest as he moved away - and fixed his eyes on the white warrior, trying to muster up the will not to go back to sleep.

“I do,” he said.

“Great,” Cloudstone said, swishing his tail. “And I think Whitestorm-”

“I’ll be out in a moment,” Tigerstar said, cutting him off. Cloudstone obviously got the message, as he dipped his head and backed away from the hollow log.

Goldenflower was still fast asleep, probably still tired from their late hunt the previous night. Tigerstar bit back a purr as he remembered the sight of her in the moonlight. Even now, in sleep, she was lovely. He’d wake her with a fresh-caught mouse, he decided, and some moss laden with water.

Now feeling better-motivated to get out of his nest, Tigerstar started to pull away, trying not to disturb any cat. Predictably, though, as he pulled his hind leg out from under Bramblekit the little tom yawned wide and blinked.

“Papa, where are you going?” Bramblekit said.

“Out,” Tigerstar said, hoping the kit would go back to sleep.

Instead, his ears pricked up. At a round four moons, he was starting to look less like a member of the nursery and more like an apprentice. “Can I come?” he said.

Tigerstar considered it for a moment. “No,” he said. “I’ll be back soon. Go back to sleep and I’ll bring you a mouse.”

Bramblekit flattened his ears, obviously disappointed. “A mouse just for me?” he said hopefully.

Tigerstar had meant to share with Tawnykit, but the look on Bramblekit’s face was too much to resist. “Yes,” he said. “Now go back to sleep.” The kit nodded, and burrowed back into the moss to watch Tigerstar leave with wide eyes.

Despite how small it was, the camp seemed to be bustling as Tigerstar emerged from the ferns marking the entrance to the hollow log. Near the medicine den, Cinderpelt and Snowpaw were laying out herbs on the stone, occasionally exchanging a few signs, while Ashpaw watched them curiously from where he was scarfing down breakfast a few tail-lengths away. Longtail and Mousefur both nodded to Whitestorm as he passed them, then exchanged a glance - the white tom seemed to be pacing beside the roots of the elm tree. Just in front of the tree stump Tigerstar used to make announcements, Cloudstone and Clawface were each watching Whitestorm warily. And behind them on the stump - there she was.

Bluestar was sitting on the stump, as she had been the night before. Her eyes were fixed on him as he moved, as though she were totally oblivious to all the rest of the activity in the camp. It was her presence that had unnerved him last night to the point that Goldenflower suggested they go for a late hunt; and though she had not followed him and he had carefully not looked for her, he had felt her still watching him when they returned after moonhigh. Now, as he had feared, she was still sitting there.

 _Maybe she’s here as some sort of spy for Fireheart, reporting all I’m doing back to him_ , he thought, knowing how frantic he sounded. _Perhaps the bastard’s got even StarClan on his side._

It had been only a week prior that Clawface had revealed Fireheart’s location to him, and his schemes - and the revelation had shaken Tigerstar. He couldn’t help but check around corners now as he walked the forest that was supposed to be his. How could he trust that his power was secure when the one threat to it was just across the Thunderpath, slowly building an army of ShadowClanners and even Tigerstar’s own former supporters?

And since then, Bluestar had been there, watching him, as though he hadn't had enough on his mind already. Sitting on the place where he announced to the Clan, the place that was rightfully his.

He tried to ignore her as he approached Cloudstone and Clawface. “Uneventful morning, I presume?” he said.

“So far,” Cloudstone said, giving Clawface a sideways glance. The former rogue just nodded silently.

Tigerstar’s pelt prickled with irritation as the two of them sent poorly-hidden suspicious looks at one another. Could none of the cats he trusted trust one another?

He flicked his ear in the direction of the elm. In a low voice, he said, “Do you know what he’s so worked up over?”

(Bluestar’s eyes narrowed, as though she thought he already ought to know. Tigerstar ignored it.)

Clawface shrugged.

“Isn’t he always like that?” Cloudstone snarked.

Tigerstar twitched his whiskers politely, but watched Whitestorm with a growing concern. His old friend wasn’t always like this. But he had been for moons, since Bluestar’s… unfortunate passing.

(Even without looking at her he could feel her pale blue gaze practically boring through his head.)

It was just grief, he told himself. Nothing more, nothing less. “Let’s get on with this. Clawface, make sure to give out assignments,” he added in a low growl.

Raising his voice, he added, “Cloudstone said you wanted to come on the water patrol, Whitestorm?”

Whitestorm’s ears pricked, and he hurried over. His eyes were tired, and troubled; he looked so _much_ like Bluestar, certainly more than he had when she was alive. Tigerstar pressed his eyes shut for a moment, willing the resemblance gone.

“Actually, I just needed to speak with you for-” Whitestorm began.

“I’m going on the water patrol. We can talk on the way,” Tigerstar interrupted firmly. Whitestorm wrinkled his nose, but agreed, and Tigerstar was privately relieved - he could not stand to be in _her_ presence another moment.

They set out for the river, and as Whitestorm unsubtly tried to draw Tigerstar into a private conversation, Cloudstone remained stubbornly between them. Torn between appreciating his former apprentice’s loyalty and being irritated at his poor social graces, Tigerstar ended up ordering him to scout ahead, even though they expected no trouble - and Cloudstone, though obviously not happy to be sent away, obeyed.

“What is it, then?” Tigerstar said.

Whitestorm lashed his tail. “I have some concerns,” he said quietly. He glanced after Cloudstone. “You’re sure he’s gone?”

“Yes,” Tigerstar said impatiently. “What concerns?”

He was beginning to grow genuinely worried. Whitestorm could be - a bit anxious at times, but he was now wondering if the white warrior had seen something on one of yesterday’s patrols - something so terrible he could only report it to the Clan leader himself. What Whitestorm said instead, therefore, threw him for a loop.

“Clawface,” Whitestorm growled. “I know what all you said about him being - a new cat, and wanting to prove himself to StarClan and-”

“And what?” Tigerstar said.

Whitestorm’s eyes flashed. He drew himself up to his full height. “And what?” he bellowed. “For _StarClan’s sake_ , Tigerstar, he killed Spottedleaf!”

“And he’s loyal to ThunderClan now,” Tigerstar said, in as steady a voice as he could manage.

Yellow eyes blazing, Whitestorm hissed, “Loyal to-? Are you _stupid_?”

The shock at being confronted so angrily by his dear friend was quickly falling away. He wasn’t _stupid_ , he wanted what was best for the Clan. Whitestorm just didn't understand. “He,” Tigerstar said, managing not to snarl, “has brought me _extremely_ valuable information on Fireheart’s whereabouts, and you’ll notice he’s been guarding the camp every other night this week and there’s been no trouble. He. Is. Loyal.”

Whitestorm’s eyes narrowed, and he looked as though he was about to say something more -

when he was interrupted by a small squeak and a rustle of leaves as Bramblekit, wide-eyed, accidentally tumbled through a bush onto the path just behind them.

For a moment, both Whitestorm and Tigerstar just stared at him.

“Bramblekit, what on earth are you doing here?” Tigerstar said, managing to flatten his fur.

Bramblekit flattened his ears, and his eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, Papa,” he said. “I-I wanted to come with you!”

Tigerstar’s instinct was to send the kit home to his mother, perhaps first with a strong reminder of all the reasons kits weren’t allowed to leave camp on their own. Certainly, Whitestorm looked to be about a half a second away from starting exactly that lecture. But something about Bramblekit made him soften. His son had gone out into the forest on his own after his father…

“All right,” Tigerstar said. “Come along then.”

“Really?” Whitestorm and Bramblekit said at the same time, one sounding distinctly less impressed than the other.

“Yes,” Tigerstar said. “Scrape up a bit of moss, there, and you can fetch the water for your mother, all right?”

“Yesss!” Bramblekit said excitedly, racing to the roots of the nearest tree. He gathered a meager clump of moss and clutched it loosely in his jaws as they continued on, obviously more excited about the chance to get out of camp than about the mission itself.

As they walked, Tigerstar pointed out landmarks to Bramblekit, trying to teach him how to identify different scents. Whitestorm remained silent.

“There’s more,” Whitestorm managed finally.

“It can wait,” Tigerstar said, determined to enjoy the morning.

“The whole point of me coming on this patrol,” Whitestorm said, “was to speak with you.”

“That was before Bramblekit got here,” Tigerstar said, watching his son run ahead after a butterfly.

Whitestorm hissed. “We’re going to have this conversation. It’s not my fault you can’t even bother to father your son.”

Tigerstar blinked and stopped walking. Did Whitestorm really think…?

Noticing Tigerstar had stopped, Whitestorm looked back at him and sighed. “I-I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean….”

“I’m a perfectly fine father,” Tigerstar said, chest tightening. On the trail ahead, Bramblekit had caught up to Cloudstone, who was watching them with narrowed eyes - with a tail signal, Tigerstar ordered him to go on ahead.

“I know,” Whitestorm said. “Much better than either of ours. Look… I’m just worried about you. You haven’t been behaving like yourself.”

On instinct he wanted to get defensive, but he forced himself to keep his fur flat and listen. 

“The old you - Tigerclaw - would’ve chased off any intruders or rogues off our territory in half a minute - especially if they had killed our medicine cat,” Whitestorm said. Stepping closer, he continued, “And some of the things you’ve said to the apprentices that haven’t been entirely - well, rooted in reality - and the split camps, and… It’s not like you. None of it is.”

Whitestorm’s yellow eyes were wide and beseeching. He was, really, worried. That much was obvious.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind since… you know,” Tigerstar admitted quietly. He waited for the ghostly pelts to show up in the corner of his eye, but none came, so he went on. “I mean… keeping this Clan safe, not knowing where Fireheart is, has been difficult. But Clawface…”

“What about him?” Whitestorm pressed.

“He is loyal to me,” Tigerstar assured him. “I’m certain of it. I couldn’t be _more_ certain of it. Whitestorm, if I tell you something I haven’t shared with the Clan yet, will you keep it a secret?”

“Only if it’s not something terrible,” Whitestorm said drily.

He held back a smile - there was Whitestorm’s pragmatist side, and his wit, finally showing its face again. A quiet sense of relief swept over him as he realized he was back in control of this conversation.

“Clawface knows where Fireheart is. He’s across the Thunderpath, in ShadowClan. And he’s amassing an army against us,” Tigerstar said. “He recruited all the rest of Brokenstar’s old followers. Only Clawface stood up against him at all.”

“I see,” Whitestorm said quietly. “I understand, then. But that’s not all.”

Tigerstar’s fur began to rise with alarm - with effort, he kept himself looking mostly calm. “What, then?”

Whitestorm almost looked incredulous. “Willowpelt told me what you said to her,” he said.

His pelt prickled. “It’s no crime to want the Clan to grow,” he said uncomfortably. “We’re in dire need of kits. Especially after last spring. Your mate would do well to take my advice.”

Whitestorm looked at him for a long moment, and Tigerstar only just resisted shrinking back, certain that he must have said the wrong thing - or else Whitestorm would have said something by now. But after a moment, the white warrior simply flicked his tail and kept walking.

Tigerstar sped his pace and quickly caught up to his side. “More kits are always good for the Clan,” he said, half to himself.

Whitestorm shifted his pace until they were walking close and their pelts brushed. “Of course,” he said quietly.

A small thought wriggled at the back of Tigerstar’s mind. One which he very much did not want to have. He wondered whether or not he should even verbalize it, but…

It was hard not to see Bluestar in his old friend’s face, sometimes. And it was hard not to think about the obvious fondness he had once carried for Fireheart.

“Whitestorm, I can trust you, can’t I?” he said.

“Of course,” Whitestorm murmured again, watching the path ahead. So Tigerstar pushed down his seed of doubt.


	32. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireheart tries reaching out. Princess makes a catch.

Fireheart flopped down in the dust next to Princess, heaving a sigh. He tossed a lizard to the ground, and she wrinkled her nose at it.

“Wasn’t there a mouse or something left?” she said hopefully.

“Yes,” Fireheart admitted, “but Cedarkit wanted to take it to Tallpoppy.”

Graystripe, who was lying on Princess’s other side, shuffled in closer and poked at the lizard with one paw. “Maybe we can catch something while we’re out,” he muttered to Princess.

“Aren’t we supposed to feed the Clan first?” she said, flicking his nose with her tail.

“Technically we’re going to be training, so it's fine,” Graystripe said. “You’ll catch something really good for all of us, I bet.”

Princess crossed her paws over one another and looked away, but Graystripe kept watching her, a dopey look in his yellow eyes.

Fireheart coughed, and they both glanced back at him, thankfully with a little embarrassment. “You’re both being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he said dryly. “It’s just a lizard. We needn't catch something else at all.”

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Graystripe said.

Rolling his eyes, Fireheart pulled the fresh-kill back to himself - obviously Graystripe and Princess weren’t even slightly interested in it - and started to eat. Although he still preferred forest prey, he had taken a liking to some of ShadowClan’s favorites, and the strange gamey flavor of lizards was the most appealing of all. Both of his companions watched him eat with wide eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re actually eating that,” Princess said.

“They’re not that bad,” Fireheart argued. “Plus, we could have a little respect for ShadowClan’s traditions, since we’re here.” He glanced at Graystripe and caught the gray tom licking his lips. 

“Oh, go on then,” he said, pushing the fresh-kill towards Graystripe - who promptly began eating. Graystripe could talk a big game, but when it came down to it, he rarely passed up a chance for a bite of food. Princess, watching him, faked a gag.

Fireheart took a few moments to groom himself while Graystripe finished off the lizard, but quickly grew bored of that and started to glance around the camp. In the deepening darkness, it was hard to see - although it was easy to hear the snores of the cats who’d spent the day on border watches. He peered over at the nursery, where the lack of movement told him Tallpoppy must have gotten the kits to settle down for the night - though after a moment of watching, he caught a flash of yellow eyes moving across the den, so perhaps the kits weren’t actually as settled as they seemed.

Apart from him, Graystripe and Princess, the only cats that were still in camp were Tangleburr and Blackfoot - everyone else that was going to leave had already done so. Fireheart settled his head down on his paws, watching the pair of former rogues as they laid silently next to a large stone. Leaning close to Princess, he caught her attention and then flicked his tail at them.

“Look,” he said. “They’re not even talking to one another.”

“Perhaps they’ve just got nothing to say,” Princess said. “Why are you so worried about it anyways?”

“I just feel bad for them,” Fireheart replied. “They’re still nearly the only ones that will tolerate each other, but they don’t even seem to like each other.”

Plus, he added to himself, although he had reached out to Blackfoot and made it clear that he had at least one supporter in the Clan, he had had no such conversation with Tangleburr. In fact, since the day he’d learned her name, he couldn’t have exchanged more than about a dozen words with her. Wasn’t she lonely? How come she hadn’t tried to leave like Blackfoot had?

“If you feel so bad, you could always invite them to come join us,” Princess suggested.

“Really?” he said. “Would you be all right with that?”

She shrugged. “Sure.” Beside her, Graystripe, who was still scarfing down the last of the lizard, gave Fireheart wide eyes and made a noise that could reasonably be interpreted as “go for it.”

Both Blackfoot and Tangleburr eyed him as he crossed the camp towards them. Feeling more awkward by the second, Fireheart reached up with his hind leg and scratched his ear. “Er, Graystripe and I are working on Princess’s hunting skills tonight. Would either of you care to join us?” he said.

Blackfoot flicked an ear and glanced at the place where the sun had dipped below the trees. He sat up. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Enjoy yourselves.” With that, he stood and left for the his den.

Now it was just Fireheart and Tangleburr. She stared after Blackfoot for a moment, the fur on her haunches rising unsubtly, and then gave Fireheart a narrow-eyed stare.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he said quickly. “I just thought… you know, you might want some company.”

Still she said nothing.

Fireheart licked his chest a few times, beginning to regret the whole endeavor. “Also,” he said, “it might help to have someone around who knows the territory a bit better. Not that Graystripe doesn’t know it. But. You know.”

“I suppose if it would help,” Tangleburr said slowly. Her voice was soft and scratchy, and he found himself leaning in a bit closer to hear it.

“Yeah, it would,” Fireheart said. “C’mon, then. I expect we’ll be leaving as soon as Graystripe finishes eating.”

Glancing over his shoulder, she said, “I think he already has.”

Fireheart turned and looked. Sure enough, Graystripe was staring down the empty lizard skin, obviously wondering whether to swallow it as well. Next to him, Princess had sat up and started tapping her hind foot. Catching Fireheart's eye, she tipped her head toward the entrance - are we going?

“Right,” Fireheart said. Tangleburr brushed past him, and they rejoined Graystripe and Princess.

They headed to the western side of the territory, where Graystripe usually liked to hunt and where the weeds were thinner than the rest of the marsh. On the way over, Fireheart tried a couple of times to engage Tangleburr in the lively conversation (“have you eaten yet? how was your day?”) but her responses were noncommittal at best. By the time they reached the hollow they were planning on beginning in, Fireheart was quite frustrated - and beginning to question why she’d agreed to come along at all.

Princess and Graystripe quickly went to work on her hunting crouch. Fireheart crouched a little ways away, trying to spot mistakes they’d both missed.

“Flat back, remember?” Graystripe said, putting his paw on Princess’s spine.

“I remember fine,” she replied, giving him a look that was half annoyed, half fond. Yet when he took the paw away, her back arched again.

After a few moments, Tangleburr, who had been standing awkwardly at the edge of the hollow, came to crouch near Fireheart, about a tail-length away.

“Have you ever had an apprentice before?” Fireheart said, trying once more to be friendly with her.

She shot him a suspicious glance. “No,” she said.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I had wondered if you could teach us a little more about ShadowClan hunting.”

“I’m sure Graystripe knows,” she said, fixing her eyes firmly on the training session.

Fireheart, however, was determined not to give up. “I suppose,” he said. “Well, maybe you’ll get Cedarkit or Cinnamonkit this fall.”

Tangleburr gave him another side-glance. “Doubtful,” she muttered.

Princess had finally managed to get her back straight, but now her stance was all wrong. Every time she took a shaky step, her tail swished - Graystripe kept hitting it gently, trying to remind her to keep it still.

Something changed in Tangleburr’s yellow gaze. “Hey,” she called out, raising her voice for perhaps the first time since Fireheart had met her. “While you’re still learning, tuck your tail in next to your hindleg.”

Fireheart glanced at her. He’d heard that tip too, a long time ago, when he was first learning to hunt - he’d forgotten it in the intervening moons, though.

Taking a deep breath, Princess tucked her tail, and took a few more shaky steps. It was a partial success - her tail wasn’t a problem at all. But within a few seconds, Graystripe had pressed his paw back onto her spine to keep her back flat.

Sticking out her lip, Princess stood back up. “I’m never going to get it,” she sighed.

Graystripe and Fireheart exchanged an alarmed look. “Hey, you’ll get it in no time,” Graystripe said. “When your brother first came to the forest it took him two moons to quit falling over when he pounced.”

“Hey!” Fireheart said, and both Graystripe and Princess laughed - and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tangleburr stifling a smile.

He sat up. “Maybe it would help to practice some actual hunting,” he suggested. After all, even with poor form, Princess could probably catch _something_ , and making her first catch would make her ten times as confident.

“We’d scare off all the prey in the forest going around in a group like this,” Graystripe pointed out.

“Then we’ll pair up,” Fireheart said. With a little difficulty, he stood - his leg was a little stiff. “C’mon, Tangleburr,” he said.

They headed further north, promising to meet Graystripe and Princess back at the same hollow. Unfortunately, Fireheart’s leg, which was growing more pained with movement, prevented him from making any catches - but several times Tangleburr wordlessly broke away from him and came back with a frog or a bird. With the sun completely down, it was hard to track her movements, but somehow nothing about the glint of her yellow eyes seemed unfamiliar.

They were just starting back towards the hollow when Fireheart finally spoke again. “You lied earlier, about not having an apprentice,” he said simply.

Tangleburr wrinkled her nose, but said nothing.

“That tip you mentioned to my sister - about tucking her tail,” he continued. “I didn’t even remember that. The only reason a cat as old as either of us would have to know it would be if we had mentored someone, and recently.”

She flattened her ears. “So what?”

“Why didn’t you tell the truth?”

“What does it matter?” Tangleburr challenged him.

At first, Fireheart didn’t have an answer. The ground was growing slick under his paws - looking ahead, he realized they had reached a pond, though it had shrunk in the hot, dry weather. He went up to the edge of the water, thinking at first of getting a drink, but soon got distracted by the sight of Silverpelt twinkling just above his reflection’s head.

“I-I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was just trying to be friendly, but I guess telling you I knew you were lying wasn’t too friendly at all, was it?”

Tangleburr came up next to him, their pelts an inch away from brushing - an inch that felt like a mile. Fireheart watched her reflection, but she turned her head to stare directly at him and bared her teeth. “Not very,” she hissed. “What is your deal? You keep acting like we’re friends, or like I'm some cool, mysterious senior warrior. Just leave me alone, okay?”

With that, she started walking again, straight through the water, and the ripples left by her path ruined the reflection.

Fireheart hurried after her. With the utter silence between them, he was forced to contemplate her words. Had he done something wrong by trying so hard to be nice to her? Perhaps she preferred to only speak with Blackfoot and always hunt by herself.

They pressed through the shallows of the pond, Tangleburr obviously too upset to do anything but walk straight forward and Fireheart anxious not to lose her. But soon his awkward gait turned into a full-on limp. He had pushed himself too hard by wandering all about the territory. As they exited the shallows and started to trudge up the muddy incline, he focused on keeping himself upright.

At the top of the hill, he stepped on a rock he thought was stable, but it slid under him, and he stumbled back. Unable to catch himself properly on his bad leg, he fell backward - 

Until something caught him by the scruff. “Easy,” Tangleburr muttered, dragging him further up the hill. Once they were on dry ground, she let him go.

Feeling utterly humiliated, Fireheart turned and started licking his lower back where he had fallen into the mud. She stood there watching, her yellow gaze unreadable. “Are you all right?” she said.

“Just fine,” Fireheart muttered, still embarrassed. He gave his fur another quick lick - the mud was still there, but he’d deal with it later. At this point he just wanted to get back to camp.

Tangleburr sighed. “Come on, you can lean on me,” she said.

“I don’t need it,” Fireheart said. He stood, trying not to be too obvious about not putting much weight on his back leg. He was fine - he would be fine.

She gave him a skeptical look, but shrugged and kept walking. Still, he noticed, she slowed her pace considerably, allowing them to walk shoulder-to-shoulder.

Fireheart considered saying something, but remembering her words from earlier, bit his tongue. It must have been obvious, because Tangleburr paused in walking again. He turned to face her where she stood, in a patch of light between the trees, watching him. “Out with it,” she said.

“Don’t you get… lonely?” he said. “Do you _really_ want every cat to leave you alone?”

She glanced away. In the moonlight, her bluish pelt was glowing. “Yeah,” she said stiffly. “Listen, are you going to keep asking me about the apprentice thing until I tell you?”

“No,” he said softly. “If you want, I’ll leave it alone. But I’d still appreciate if you told me.”

“I was a mentor,” she said. “Brokenstar gave me Spicepaw. He was about three moons old when he got his new name. You can figure out the rest.”

Fireheart’s heart plummeted with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“The past is in the past,” Tangleburr said gruffly. Her yellow eyes shone as she pushed past him, but he decided not to press her. He had already asked her enough questions.

Finally, when they were only minutes outside the hollow, he stopped her with a tap of his tail-tip to her shoulder. She was laden with prey by that point - they had been picking it up on the way back - so she set down a couple pieces and tipped her head at him.

“You know,” he said, “you’re welcome to come along with me any time, and I’m sure Graystripe and Princess will say the same. You don’t _need_ to keep… isolating yourself.”

“All right,” Tangleburr said noncommittally, but her ears pricked up.

They went into the hollow, where Graystripe and Princess were waiting. Graystripe had a solid catch, and Princess was proudly carrying two mice. She raced up to Fireheart like an apprentice on their first day. “Look,” she said excitedly. “Look, I really did it!”

“You did!” he said, ecstatic for her.

They headed back to camp just after moonhigh, laden with prey, while Princess told him the story of her catch. Later, before going to sleep, he sat outside his den and leaned over himself to wash the rest of the mud off of his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tangleburr slinking off to the other side of camp, and raised his tail in greeting to her. Just before she disappeared from view, she shot him a nod and a rare smile - and seeing it, he couldn’t help but feel a bit satisfied.


	33. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long, dry summer, Sandstorm asks her friend for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting pre-written chapters is weird sometimes. You look at your own writing and go, "Who did this? How? What?"

It wasn't like she was planning it out. It wasn’t a big deal. She was just asking Dustpelt about what he thought of how the Clan was being run. And, you know, if it went well, she would reveal to him the identity of her father’s murderer.

No big deal.

She waited until the sun went down. The elders, no longer having any sunny spots to warm themselves in, wandered back to their den one by one; the queens, yawning, began to herd the kits toward the nursery. Brightclaw, trying to look subtle, crept off to make her evening report to Tigerstar and Jag took up post at the gorse tunnel. She kept waiting, as the sky darkened, as Yellowfang’s snores became audible from the medicine den, as the warriors began going in for the night.

Fernpaw went to say good night to Dustpelt, as she often did. From across the camp, Sandstorm couldn’t hear their conversation, but the apprentice soon scampered off. Sandstorm held her breath.

As Dustpelt began to make his way toward the warriors’ den, she stood up and fell in close beside him, matching his steps to her own. Speaking as quietly as she could while still knowing he would hear her, she hissed, “I need to speak to you.”

He said nothing, but nor did he speed up.

“In a little while, I’ll get up and go out the dirtplace tunnel. Meet me at the top of the ravine, but don’t leave until I’ve been gone a little while. And make sure Jag doesn’t see you,” she said.

Again, he said nothing. They entered the warriors’ den and went to their nests.

She was supposed to be pretending to be asleep, but nothing could stop her heart racing so hard she was sure the whole den could hear it. She wondered if she’d just made a terrible mistake. But after a little while, the breaths of the cats around her slowed, and she stood, as slowly as she could.

No one so much as twitched.

Trying not to breathe too much, Sandstorm crept across the den and crouched in the shadows of its entrance. She couldn't see the gorse tunnel very well from here, but Jag didn't seem to be paying much attention - hopefully he was staring off into space. This would be easier if no one noticed she had gone.

She went across the camp, and he didn’t call her out. After a few minutes she had made it to the top of the ravine.

_Now all I have to do is wait._

After a little while, there were some rustling noises as some cat climbed up the ravine, and Sandstorm, still wary that Jag had seen her, scrambled backwards into a bush. As the cat hauled themselves over the ledge, she recognized Dustpelt’s scent and came out again, feeling very relieved.

Dustpelt turned towards her, amber eyes flashing in the starlight. “This had better be quick,” he said. “Brightclaw saw me go.”

Sandstorm’s fur spiked. “It’s not going to be,” she said.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he replied indignantly.

“You’re the dumbass that got himself noticed,” she said. Dustpelt rolled his eyes.

Ironically, though the argument was obviously antagonistic - it was also reassuring. Sandstorm used to poke and prod at Dustpelt like this all the time, and he had done the very same back. But since their fight, it had felt like they were both trying to step easy around one another.

“Just go back, wait till Brightclaw actually falls asleep and then come out again,” she suggested. “I’ll wait.”

“Well, all right,” Dustpelt grumbled. “But if I’m not up here again by moonhigh, just come back. It won’t do you any good to stay up all night out here.” With that, he started down the ravine again.

Sandstorm crouched in the bushes and tried not to swish her tail out of worry. He didn’t seem to have told anyone she wanted to speak - but there was no knowing what he would do when she told him what she had to say.

She had put so much of herself into resisting Tigerstar’s regime. And Redtail had told her she was the Clan’s last hope. But if things went badly, this could be the end to all that. She could be forced to leave her Clan just like Fireheart had been… or worse. The fur along her spine stood up as she remembered Cloudstone’s harrowing fight against Darkstripe the previous spring. Although nothing similar had happened in the past moons, and most cats seemed to have forgotten about it and written it off, she couldn’t help but think Tigerstar was capable of doing it again.

But after a little while, Dustpelt returned. “Got her off my back,” he muttered. “What now?”

“We ought to go someplace we’re really sure no one will come across us,” Sandstorm said.

Maybe finding such a place wasn’t completely vital. But, she rationalized, it was better not to take any risks. Dustpelt just nodded, not a hint of wariness in his expression. “I have an idea,” he said.

He led the way to a tree in the heart of the territory which, having been struck by lightning a few moons back, was now completely hollow but still hadn’t fallen. They squeezed into the space in the middle, which was a bit small for two grown cats, but they would be perfectly hidden if anyone happened to wander past. “Wow,” Sandstorm said. “How did you find this place?”

“Ravenpaw found it. He and I came out here a few times when we were apprentices, before…” he muttered. “You know.”

Sandstorm took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m… sorry we fought. I’ve been really weird lately, and it’s not been fair to you,” she said.

“I’m sorry too,” Dustpelt offered immediately. “I know when we fought, you were trying to tell me something important. I just… had a weird thought, and it made me flip out for basically no reason.”

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I was trying to tell you something important. Listen… you have to promise that what I’m about to say to you, you don’t tell anyone about. As in, you don’t tell any cat these things, nor do you tell them that I’ve said them. You have to swear, because I’m afraid that if you don’t, I might end up dead.”

His eyes widened. “Of course,” he said seriously.

“No,” Sandstorm insisted. “Promise.”

“I promise I’m not going to tell anyone anything about whatever it is you say,” Dustpelt recited. “As far as I’m concerned, we were never here.”

 _He doesn't know what he’s committing to, though,_ some nasty little voice whispered at the back of Sandstorm’s head. _He might change his mind here in a few moments._

Her heart was thudding in her chest. But there was nothing left to do but speak, and hope he would hear her.

“Okay,” Sandstorm said. “I… I think Fireheart was wrongfully exiled.”

“So you think he didn’t kill Bluestar?” Dustpelt said, eyes narrowing.

He hadn’t left, she told herself. That was a good sign.

“Yeah,” she said. “Actually… I think Bluestar’s killer is the same as Redtail’s. I have strong reason to believe they were both killed by Tigerstar.”

Dustpelt said nothing, but his tail twitched.

“First off,” she said, “I found out that Oakheart wasn’t killed by Redtail at all. According to RiverClan, he died in a rock fall. If that is the case, who could have killed Redtail? And why would Tigerstar lie about what happened?”

“Couldn’t Oakheart have just died after killing Redtail?” Dustpelt said. His voice was very even - she knew him too well to think he wasn’t having an emotional reaction to all this, but he seemed to be trying to think logically.

“Maybe,” she said, “but that still wouldn’t explain why Tigerstar would lie. Besides… there’s more.

Soon after Bluestar died, I had this… vision, of my father. He told me to find Ravenpaw’s body. For a while, I didn’t bother doing anything, because I didn’t trespass on ShadowClan territory, but… finally I did, and I found some things out.“

She hesitated. Should she mention that Fireheart and Graystripe had been taken in by ShadowClan? _Best not,_ she thought. _I’ll bring that up later…_

“What did you find, Sandstorm?” Dustpelt said.

“…I didn’t find a body,” she said. “Because it turns out, Ravenpaw’s not on ShadowClan territory, either. He’s… he’s alive, Dustpelt. He’s been living at the barn for moons.”

Dustpelt drew back. “No he’s not,” he said flatly.

“Yes, he is,” Sandstorm insisted. “I know how hard this is to hear, but please just listen. Ravenpaw saw-”

“He’s not,” Dustpelt said harshly. “He wouldn't have done that. I know everyone thought my brother was a coward, but he wouldn't have done that. He died… bravely.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But _please_ just listen to what I’m about to say.”

Dustpelt hung his head, not moving, and Sandstorm fell silent. She wasn’t sure if he was still listening, but after a few minutes, she pressed on.

“He saw Tigerstar kill my father,” she said.

Dustpelt’s head whipped back up and she stumbled back. There was a slightly crazed look in his eye. “That… that’s just what Fireheart said before he was exiled, wasn’t it?” he said.

“He was telling the truth,” she said.

“No he wasn’t,” Dustpelt scoffed. “My brother is dead. Bluestar is dead. Tigerstar is our leader now.” His tail lashed back and forth, and his voice shook as he continued, “I’m living in reality, Sandstorm, and you need to come back to it. Making up fantasies like this, it isn’t healthy.”

“He’s _alive_ ,” Sandstorm said exasperatedly.

“Are you working with him?” Dustpelt said harshly, his fur beginning to rise. “With Fireheart, I mean?”

She hesitated, unsure how to answer in a way that would calm him down - but apparently he took her silence as answer enough, continuing, “You know, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, every cat knows before he got exiled you two were secretly f-”

“We were _not_ ,” Sandstorm snapped, frustration rising in her chest. “Would you just shut up and listen to me? I’m trying to tell you-”

Dustpelt bared his teeth. “I cannot believe,” he said, “that of all the cats I grew up with, all the cats I trusted, the only ones who would turn out to have any honor would both die before they got their warrior names. Well, you know what? My brother gave his life for this Clan, and my sister would have, too, if she’d had half the chance. I’m not _abandoning_ it on your word.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Sandstorm hissed. “And for what it’s worth, I miss Cherrypaw too. But Ravenpaw is alive, and you can check for yourself.”

Dustpelt stood in front of her, staring at her like he could hardly believe what he was seeing. His muzzle twitched as though he were about to snarl, but he never did.

“I made a promise,” he said. “I’m not going to break it. But if I ever hear another word from you about this, or if any cat tells me you’ve been straying to close to the ShadowClan border - anything traitorous - I won’t hesitate to report you. I care about this Clan.”

 _How dare you say that?_ she thought, barely managing to stop herself from saying it aloud. How could he pretend he was loyal to these cats while he stood by and ignored their abuse, and just kept supporting the one in charge of it all?

“I care about it, too,” she said. “That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. And if you were really so worried about ThunderClan’s wellbeing, you’d see I’m talking sense.”

He stared at her for another few moments, and then it was like he had deflated. His posture relaxed, his fur flattened. His eyes flicked toward the ground.

“Don’t make me say something I’ll regret, Sandstorm,” Dustpelt said.

Heart sinking, she said nothing. He climbed out of the hollow tree.

She sat in it a few moments longer, giving her chest a few quick licks, trying to pull herself together again. But all she could think of was that she’d failed to convince even the cat she trusted most.

When she climbed out of the tree, Dustpelt was standing there waiting for her, his yellow eyes glowing distrustfully in the darkness. “Shall we, then?” she said, not bothering to conceal the venom in her tone.

“Ladies first,” Dustpelt returned, showing perhaps a bit more fang than was necessary.

They made it back to camp without incident, even managing to sneak past Jag and not wake any cat on their way into the warriors’ den. Sandstorm curled up in her nest next to Brackenfur, deeply aware of Dustpelt on the other side of the den, knowing he wasn't yet asleep but was watching her in the dark.

How had she failed to convince him? What else could she have done? She had followed StarClan’s orders, discovered the truth, and tried to share it, but… he hadn’t listened.

No cat had listened. No cat except Yellowfang, who was halfway to death’s door already, and Snowpaw, an apprentice of only eight moons who, if she was being honest with herself, was probably more interested in revolution as some theoretical glorious battle than reality. 

And on the other paw, Tigerstar had a whole posse of cats whose loyalty to him seemed infinite… Brightclaw, Darkstripe, Goldenflower, Jag… and more she hadn’t expected, like apparently Cloudstone, Whitestorm, and… Dustpelt.

 _Perhaps I should have stayed at the barn with Ravenpaw,_ she thought darkly, _and let the chips in the forest fall where they may. Or run off to join Fireheart and Graystripe in ShadowClan and never show my face at a Gathering again. Or gone to Twolegplace and sat around looking pathetic until some Twoleg shut me in their nest to be a kittypet for all time. Or run off toward the sunset and lived on my own as a rogue and never looked back to this forsaken place…_

But in her heart of hearts, she knew none of that had ever been an option. She loved ThunderClan with her whole soul. Her father and grandfathers had been deputies; her aunt had been a medicine cat. Every member of her family had spent all their days in the Clan for as long as any cat could remember. Abandoning her Clan would be like chewing off her own leg.

What, then was she supposed to do? Everything had changed around her so quickly, and by the time she'd realized how far things had gone her chance to change it had passed. It was stay here, in a Clan that was practically unrecognizable, living under an unjust leader, or run away and give up Clan life entirely.

There was no question in the matter.

Sandstorm tucked herself deeper into her nest. _From this moment on,_ she promised herself, _I will be nothing but the most loyal, the most dedicated warrior in this Clan. Even if I don’t agree with the way things are going, they need me. There’s no use trying to change things._

Trying not to focus on her own misery, she slowly drifted off to sleep.


	34. Tigerstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tigerstar makes another journey. Whitestorm tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me at like 9pm: oh yeah it's tuesday
> 
> I'm thinking of doing nanowrimo with an original fiction idea, so there might be a break in updates for a while as i focus on that. Would you guys prefer if I space out the rest of Act 2 (next two chapters) by posting them with two-week gaps, or just blasting through them with the same one-a-week schedule?

Cinderpelt was flitting around the ravine camp’s medicine den like a disturbed butterfly, fetching herbs almost before Yellowfang requested them and widening her eyes to a comical degree every time the elderly medicine cat coughed or rasped. It would almost have been funny to watch, Tigerstar reflected, had it not been so deeply annoying.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to go instead?” she asked after Yellowfang started wheezing for almost the third time.

“No,” Tigerstar and Yellowfang said together.

“I am the senior medicine cat, and I am perfectly capable of making a trip to the Moonstone,” Yellowfang said.

“Also,” Tigerstar added, “no offense, but your leg would slow us down.”

Cinderpelt gave him a nasty look. “I’m perfectly capable of getting to Highstones, thank you very much,” she said.

“Sure,” he said. “That’s why you’re the medicine cat, right?”

“Keep talking and I’ll give you a bad leg of your own,” she said with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Tigerstar did not reply.

“Hand us some daisy, would you?” Yellowfang said, arranging the leaves she already had into several small bundles. Cinderpelt kept her eye on Tigerstar for a moment before turning to obey.

“Now, this one’s for Smallear,” Yellowfang said to Cinderpelt, pointing, “and you need to give it to him around sundown. This one is for Brindleface - she’s been having some trouble sleeping. Thornclaw might come in complaining about his pads since they’ve been getting dry and splitting recently, so you'll need to use-”

“I’ll be fine,” Cinderpelt interrupted. “You gave me my full name for a reason. Really, I’m only worried about Snowpaw being all alone in the Owl Tree camp-”

“He’ll be fine, too,” Yellowfang said gruffly. “He’s nearly eight moons, right?”

“And,” Tigerstar cut in, “It’ll only be one night. Speaking of which, we’ve already spent half the day here. Are you two well enough ready yet?”

Yellowfang and Cinderpelt each gave him rude looks and he flicked his tail, wondering whether self-importance was a quality common to all medicine cats or only those trained by ShadowClanners. Then again, he thought, Spottedleaf used to be the same way…

“Fine,” Yellowfang said, picking up one of the leaf bundles. “It’s best to be early, anyways, and there’s no telling how much WindClan will slow us down with their inane questions when they see us crossing. Let's go.”

They bid goodbye to Cinderpelt and headed off. The journey was relatively peaceful, although in the dry, hot weather they kept having to stop to find something to drink. However, despite Yellowfang’s prediction, they made it through WindClan territory without encountering any patrols. Once they were off Clan territory, the sun started to sink in the sky, and the Highstones loomed ahead. Then, and only then, did Yellowfang speak.

“What were you seeking guidance on, then?” she said.

Tigerstar flicked his tail. “Warrior business,” he said dismissively.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he swallowed saliva into his empty, gnawing stomach, wondering whether she could see through him.

The fact was, he wasn’t sure if he was even seeking guidance at all. But Bluestar had shown up in his camp and not taken her eyes off him since she’d arrived there, he was certain of it, even when he was tree-lengths away her gaze was fixed on him through the foliage. And after moons and moons of seeing her in the corner of his eye and dreaming she was stalking him when he slept at night…

He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to find out why she was there.

They arrived at the Moonstone just as the sun was setting, and waited there in silence for a while; finally, Yellowfang confirmed that the sky was dark enough for them to enter, and they went in.

The tunnels going down were just as dark and claustrophobic as they had been on the night of his leader’s ceremony. Tigerstar curled up next to the Moonstone, and waited.

—

He opens his eyes to find himself nowhere familiar. He’s on a bed of black ash, in a wide and barren plain. The wind whistles through the empty landscape, carrying a scent of something smoky and burnt.

“Hello?” he calls, hoping StarClan will answer. Nothing deigns to reply.

He starts walking, unsure what he’s meant to be doing or if he’s gotten lost somehow or perhaps if they’ve forgotten to come speak with him. The ash clings to his feet, darkening his fur.

After a while, he reaches a river with a familiar-looking set of stones on one side. “Sunningrocks?” he murmurs. Circling around them with new recognition, he begins to glance around. Is this the forest? Has something happened to it?

He turns back to Sunningrocks, and for a second, thinks he sees a pool of blood on the stone, but it’s gone in an instant.  
“Hello?” he calls again, less uncertainly this time. Some cat is here, he can feel it on his spine. StarClan has sent him this dream, even if they've not bothered to show up.

He trots through destroyed ThunderClan land, leaving clouds of soot in his wake. There's little to be found. He puts a paw down and brings it back up immediately, hissing - something cut him.

He inspects his pad - there’s something sharp and shiny embedded in it - 

“Is this glass?” he mutters, half to himself.

“You’re standing on what used to be the sandy hollow, Tigerstar,” says a familiar voice.

He looks up, and suddenly Bluestar is there where she wasn’t a moment ago, and he opens his mouth to question her, but before he can speak he blinks and -

—

He isn’t where he was a moment ago.

He’s crouched in the bushes in an unfamiliar forest, one rife with white-skinned birch trees. The air smells clear, but ahead, the trees grow together and the air grows dark.

A cat whips past him so quickly he feels the wind on his cheek. It takes him a moment to get his bearings back, but when he does, he recognizes the gray-and-white pelt instantly-

“Thistleclaw!” he cries out, and runs after his mentor.

But the wily old tom doesn't look back - in fact, he looks as though he’s running for his life, barely stopping to pick himself up when he stumbles.

Tigerstar slows down, confused, and as he does, a dozen more cats pass by him, their pelts dark and unfamiliar, but their fangs sharp. Desperately, Thistleclaw backs himself up against the thick trees and as they grow closer, he turns and vanishes into the deep forest, and as Tigerstar stumbles back in confusion, his vision blanks out.

—

He’s sitting at the top of the Highrock back in the ravine camp, and his paws are wet. Sticky, even.

It’s hard to tell in the purplish twilight, but a number of shapes litter the sandy bottom of the ravine. Some are unmoving. Some are writhing in pain. A low wail of pain is emanating from one of them.

He lifts one paw to lick it, and tastes blood.

—

Heart still pounding, he’s somewhere new again, somewhere he’s never been before in his life, but even before he opens his eyes the reek hits him and nearly sends him reeling. It stinks like a thousand pieces of crowfood, and underlying that is the scent of diseased, stagnant water.

Opening his eyes does not improve the situation. He’s crouched atop a small hill of what can only be bones. Bleached white by the sun, they settle and crack under his feet. He tries to see what kind of bones they are, and notices shrews, mice, birds, rabbits, snakes. He stops looking when he gets to something cat.

Flanking his pile on either side are cats that seem halfway familiar to him, though he couldn’t place them to save his life - more, completely unknown to him, form a hesitant ring around the bone pile.

In the middle of the ring, sporting an oddly-familiar gray pelt, stands a RiverClan tom he could swear he’s seen before, looking desperate. Looking fearful.

The tom’s face changes, and his tail stands tall in the air like a red plume of smoke. His face changes again, and his icy blue eyes are wide with the terror that only accompanies losing one’s last life to a trusted friend.

Tigerstar feels his mouth open, and he feels himself order something done, though he speaks no words, and his followers set on the cat in the ring like animals.

—

In a flash of blood and terror, he sees Brightclaw, still managing a determined expression, scream as a dog tears into her face.

—

He is alone in the forest.

A forest that is no longer burnt to the ground, but rather one that looks like the one he left this morning. It’s nighttime, and the moon, nearly full, shines brightly in the sky, accompanied by all the warriors of Silverpelt. The breeze is cool, promising rain in autumn.

He breathes, calming his beating heart and wondering if StarClan has finally come to answer him.

For a time he stands in one place, flexing his claws in and out one by one and waiting for them, but it soon becomes clear that StarClan is not on their way, so once more he begins to walk. The night air is sharp and clean. He’s forced to fluff up his fur as it rapidly starts to grow darker and colder.

It’s not until he reaches Fourtrees that he realizes why.

The stars have been blinking out, leaving the sky blank.

He scrambles up the Great Rock, desperate to see something to make him change his mind but all the better view does it make him realize it’s true - quicker and quicker, the stars are disappearing. Silverpelt has already vanished entirely.

“What is this?” he demands of no one, hoping Bluestar will turn up again, but no cat answers, and he stands there until the last of the light vanishes and he’s alone in a black forest.

—

He wakes up, gasping, in the bottom of the ravine camp, only to be met with two familiar pairs of eyes - one amber, one green.

“Bramblekit, Tawnykit,” he groans in relief. “I’ve been having the strangest dream.”

They do not reply. Instead, they glance at one another, standing over him, and he notices how old they look - not like warriors, but no longer like kittens. He realizes he’s lying belly-up, and he realizes just how much his throat hurts.

Tawnykit nods, and Bramblekit takes a deep breath.

“Kids, what’s happening?” Tigerstar says guardedly.

They both lift their paws, and he sees the glint of their unsheathed claws as they strike a killing blow on him -

—

“…There will not be a battle today,” some cat says, a note of finality in their voice.

Tigerstar opens his eyes to find himself at Fourtrees once more, this time with an army behind him - and another ahead. Fireheart stands at the opposite side of the hollow, at the head of a hundred cats or more, but he was not the one speaking.

No, the voice - high and cold and unfamiliar - comes from Tigerstar’s right side, where he is surprised to find a kitten-sized black cat with one white paw and a kittypet collar, though it is spiked with what look like teeth.

“I knew you were a traitor,” he finds himself hissing. Unbidden, his hindlegs bunch and send him flying through the air towards his companion, but -

The other cat hardly looks alarmed. In fact, he looks almost smug as he reaches a paw into the air with claws so long they almost dwarf his paws, and some searing pain splits Tigerstar in half.

He lands on all four feet, amazingly, but a sickening splat beneath where his stomach once was tells him he hasn’t much longer to live. He stumbles on his paws, desperate for some reason to stay standing, desperate to keep his dignity. But his knees fail him, and he falls onto something hot and wet that he doesn’t think about, he _can’t_ , he is _Tigerstar_ , he will survive but he’s been torn in two and he tries to breathe but blood gurgles in his throat and he tries to speak but he’s drowning in his own bile and he tries to think but it’s all static against the unbearable pain -

—

He sees something mangled, and wonders if he’s looking at his own corpse, if StarClan has just straight-up killed him, before he sees a scrap of light brown tabby fur and recognizes, with rising nausea, Runningwind.

—

He’s back in the forest by Tallpines, the scent of sap practically overwhelming but still reassuring, like home. Immediately he’s on his guard, waiting for whatever horror will arrive next.

But nothing does. Instead, he gets a prickling feeling of something watching him, though he sees nothing, hears nothing, can scent nothing on the air but sap and Twolegs. 

Still, on instinct, he hides. And when his spine prickles again, he picks up and moves. He will not be caught, he will not be seen.

A terrible sense of déjà vu overtakes him as he moves through the woods, being slowly and silently pursued, and the feeling begins to overwhelm him that his pursuer - that _she_ \- is drawing nearer, is going to catch him, is going to win.

He sees the familiar glint of her eye and knows he’s dead.

—

He’s standing at the ShadowClan border, and he sees green eyes in the bushes, and he knows who they belong to.

—

He opens his eyes to find himself someplace strange. A great lake stretches out in front of him, all the way to the horizon. Waves lap ferociously against his paws, creating a sound that is unfamiliar but comforting. On the horizon, the sun sits, dark red and angry like it’s trying to claw its way out of the water.

The wind is strong here, and it carries a strong scent of salt. It's fresh, too, like the air at the river. He backs up out of the water, disliking the feeling of getting his paws wet.

If it hadn’t happened like this twice before, he might wonder whether this is the place where StarClan will finally speak to him.

He backs up onto some strange-textured ground, and holds up a front paw, covered in something gritty and sticky. “Sand?” he mutters, but no cat replies.

—

Tigerstar woke up at the Moonstone.

For a moment he crouched in terror, wondering whether he was still dreaming, but after a few moments, he let himself relax - he had returned to reality.

Why did StarClan show him those things? His destruction, his Clan’s destruction, his _forest’s_ destruction? What could possibly be the point?

His eye caught the shaft at the top of the cave - it was barely after moonhigh. He had only slept for a few hours. Yet he was hardly going to lie around and sleep here, in StarClan’s territory. He cast about wildly in the dark, looking for Yellowfang, and shook her awake.

“Wh-wha?” the old molly said, clearly still half-asleep.

“We’re leaving,” Tigerstar snapped. He turned and headed for the dark tunnel out without checking if she was following.

When he had emerged onto the moor in front of Highstones, Yellowfang appeared at his shoulder once more. “What happened?” she demanded. “Did you get the guidance you-”

“Come on,” Tigerstar snapped, cutting her off, and he started off again, fixing his eyes on the dark blur on the horizon where he knew ThunderClan’s forest lay.

He set a quick pace. He was desperately trying to keep his mind off of the disasters StarClan had shown him, but part of him wondered if they weren’t just nightmares but warnings. Would his kits kill him? Would Runningwind and Brightclaw be attacked by dogs? After all, StarClan’s dreams were meant to give guidance…

But what he had received hadn’t seemed much like guidance at all.

He refocused on Yellowfang, struggling along behind him, panting loudly. She hadn’t seemed too startled by his insistence on leaving, only annoyed. Could she have…?

 _You’re being absurd,_ he thought. _She’s your medicine cat._

But was she really? Or was she still loyal to ShadowClan? The very same place he had recently learned Fireheart now lived, slowly raising an army against ThunderClan and all it stood for. Tigerstar’s pelt prickled uncomfortably. He knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he also knew that she didn't like him… that she had tried to stop his leadership, compared him to Brokenstar from the very start…

Something splashed, his paws were wetted, and Tigerstar realized that they had reached the stream. Which meant that, without him noticing it, they had somehow passed the Owl Tree camp.

Yellowfang made her way up to his side, sides heaving. “You couldn’t slow your roll for an old molly?” she snapped, clearly irritated.

He flicked his tail to acknowledge he’d heard her, but said nothing. He was too busy scanning the trees. Nothing seemed burnt… the stars seemed not to be going out. Things were as he’d left them. “You’re obviously worn out. You can come sleep in the Owl Tree camp tonight,” he said.

Without waiting to see how she’d react, he turned and started for the Owl Tree. The sound of heavy breathing told him that Yellowfang was following dutifully.

A thought struck him. A terrifying thought. This was all awfully familiar, a cat stalking him through his own woods at night - the only difference being that in his dreams, the cat had been Bluestar. But Yellowfang was still loyal to Bluestar, wasn’t she? A fact she had gone out of her way to rub in his face, over and over again.

What if she was going to wait for him to go to sleep, and then take his life? It didn't seem like the sort of thing a medicine cat would do, but then, neither did most things Yellowfang did.

…could she have blocked him from StarClan on purpose?

It wasn’t as though his dreams made any sort of sense, or were even slightly similar to the one StarClan dream he knew he’d had, his leader’s ceremony. They had just resembled the nightmares he already had every night. What if Yellowfang had somehow kept him from speaking with their warrior ancestors?

He made his way through the brambles at the camp entrance and pressed his paws into the crunchy, dried-out grass. Yellowfang brushed past him, limping toward the medicine den and coughing slightly. He tried to breathe slowly and calm himself - surely, he was just being paranoid.

Across the camp, Whitestorm, who had been sitting at the roots of the elm tree, rose and walked over.

There was something in his eyes that Tigerstar didn’t like.

“You’re up late,” he said gruffly, hoping to cut the conversation off so he could just get the fuck to sleep.

“Right,” Whitestorm said. His voice was grim, but determined. “Listen, you need to stop all this nonsense. I’ve been thinking about this all week, and the Clan can't go on like this anymore.”

Out of the corner of Tigerstar’s eye, he noticed Yellowfang pause, but she didn’t move otherwise.

“I’ve no idea what you're talking about,” Tigerstar snapped.

Whitestorm’s muzzle twitched. “You can’t keep running a Clan like this. This isn’t how things are supposed to be. I’m putting an end to it.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Go back to sleep,” Tigerstar growled.

But Whitestorm didn’t stand down. In fact, he stood up straight, and took a step forward. Then he began to speak, loudly. “You’ve split the camp in two. You’ve recruited a rogue and a murderer. You’re trying to force mollies to have kits, even those that don’t want to, or those that already have litters. You lie to apprentices about history and make them train claws-out. You send out a number of border patrols that is frankly paranoid.”

Dark shapes were slipping out of the dens - cats were waking up and coming outside to see what all the commotion was, though none of them were stepping in, either. Tigerstar spotted Darkstripe, Ashpaw, Snowpaw, Swiftstrike all gathered around the edges of the camp, eyes glittering as they watched, and if the movement inside the dens was any indication more cats were waking.

“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” Tigerstar said.

“We’ll talk about this now,” Whitestorm replied firmly. For a moment, his gaze softened. “I’m worried about you. You haven't been acting like yourself for moons now. _Please_ , Tigerstar, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Tigerstar said, holding back a snarl. “Now _let it go_.”

“This can’t go on,” Whitestorm repeated.

“Let it go,” Tigerstar said, “or I swear to StarClan-”

He cut himself off. For a second, in the moonlight, he could swear that Whitestorm’s eyes had glittered icy blue.

“You’re loyal to this Clan, aren’t you, Whitestorm?” he said, his chest tightening.

Before the other warrior could reply, however, Yellowfang practically leaped between them, eyes wide. “Of course he is,” she said.

“Yes, I am,” Whitestorm said, shooting Yellowfang a grateful look. “Are _you_?”

Tigerstar stumbled backwards slightly. How… Why would…

He blinked to clear his shock. With increasing rage, he noted that Yellowfang had given Whitestorm an alarmed look.

Could they possibly be in this together? Had his senior medicine cat and one of his most trusted warriors been working against him this entire time? 

“You’re not,” he said, knowing it was true as he said it.

“You’re being fucking ridiculous,” Whitestorm hissed, but in that moment, Tigerstar caught a flash of a blue pelt in the darkness behind him, and thought that Whitestorm had never looked more like his aunt.

They were both still loyal to her. Neither of them had ever seen Tigerstar's leadership as legitimate. They’d just been biding their time until he was weak, trying to take his Clan down from the inside out.

The whole camp was awake now, watching them.

“You’re both traitors,” Tigerstar snarled, no longer holding himself back. Yellowfang flinched, and Whitestorm’s ears flattened. With a sense of satisfaction from their fear, Tigerstar set his shoulders and fluffed out his fur. “Neither of you is loyal to this Clan. Yellowfang, you were always ShadowClan scum… I should have known it from the beginning.”

“I am loyal to this Clan,” Yellowfang insisted.

He ignored her. “But Whitestorm, I can’t believe you would betray me too,” he hissed. “How long have you been working with Fireheart?”

Narrowing his eyes, Whitestorm snarled, “I _haven’t_. Any cat with eyes can see that -”

“ _DON’T LIE TO ME_ ,” Tigerstar bellowed. Whitestorm flinched, stumbling back, and he felt guilty for half a second before catching sight of that blue pelt on the stump again. 

“You’re both traitors,” he spat. “As the leader of this Clan, I sentence you both to exile. If any cat catches sight of you on this territory after sunrise, they have my full permission to kill you. And believe me, if I see you myself, you won’t even live long enough to regret it.”

Whitestorm’s eyes narrowed; he lowered himself to the ground, muscles tensed, looking for half a second as though he were going to spring at Tigerstar. _Do it,_ Tigerstar thought. _Let’s settle things the simple way for once. No more politicking or deceiving or arguing, just a clean fight._ But Yellowfang, fur fluffed up with alarm, gave Whitestorm a sharp prod with one of her claws and muttered, “Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Whitestorm said, lashing his tail angrily. He and Yellowfang made their way to the entrance, but as the ragged old molly limped out, Whitestorm stood there a moment longer, scanning the camp and the gathered cats.

“Tigerstar has perverted the very nature of this Clan,” Whitestorm hissed. “He’s a murderer, and under any just rule he’d be an exile himself.” Fixing his yellow gaze on Tigerstar, he added, “May it bring you satisfaction, you old fool.” With that, he turned and left, following after Yellowfang.

Tigerstar watched him go, flexing his claws in and out of the dirt.

After a few moments, Cloudstone appeared at his side. “Do you want me to go after them and make sure they leave?” he said.

“Don’t bother,” Tigerstar said. “They’re not stupid enough to stay.” Ignoring the pit in his stomach, turned and headed towards the fallen log.

The Clan, apparently realizing that the drama was over, began to disperse; out of the crowd leapt Darkstripe, who inserted himself between Tigerstar and his den. “Wait, sir,” he said quickly. “Who will be the new-”

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Tigerstar snapped.

Nodding quickly, Darkstripe backed off. “Yes, sir.” _Pathetic,_ Tigerstar thought as the black tabby hauled himself off to the warrior’s den.

Goldenflower and the kits were awake, and the kits were obviously excited by the night's events, climbing all over themselves and barraging him with questions - “ _Papa! Papa!_ ” as soon as he entered the den. Brushing them aside, Tigerstar crept towards the back of the fallen log. He would sleep on the bare wood if it meant being left alone.

He curled up in a tight ball, tail over his nose, trying to ignore the sound of his squealing kits. He had ejected two traitors from his Clan, and yet somehow he wasn’t… happy. Even though he’d kept the Clan safe, and even though none of the disasters of his nightmare had come to pass, he somehow couldn't help feeling that everything was falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its unrealistic goldenflower didn't yell at him but consider that this chapter was already 4k words and i was tired


	35. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ShadowClan holds one last vigil. Things get put into perspective.

Despite her antisocial nature, Tangleburr’s presence soon became a regular part of Fireheart’s day. At first he had wondered if she was simply trying to be kind by never turning down his invitations, until one morning he went out for a walk on his own and she turned up ten minutes later, looking quite irritated that he hadn’t woken her. Her companionship was reliable, since she still didn't seem interested in befriending anyone else, and calm, as she was rarely in the mood for extended conversation.

On a hot afternoon when his leg hardly pained him at all, Fireheart and Tangleburr were combing the back part of the territory, looking for a birds’ nest Bouldernose had mentioned spotting. He had said there were seven good-sized eggs in it, enough to feed nearly half the Clan. But after carefully searching nearly every tree from the Twolegplace to the carrionplace, they hadn’t found more than a few empty nests.

“Serves us right for listening to him,” Fireheart commented as Tangleburr jumped out of another tree containing only an empty nest. “It’s very late in the summer - even if there are any eggs left unhatched by now, it’s certainly not seven in one place.”

Tangleburr shot him a look of the sort that he couldn’t tell whether she was irritated or amused. “If you thought he was full of shit, why didn’t you say so before we trekked out here?”

“Because if it turned out he wasn’t, it would’ve been very worth it,” Fireheart said, twitching his whiskers. She rolled her eyes.

“Come on, let’s quit wasting our time,” she said, turning back towards camp.

Fireheart trotted up next to her, matching their pace. “Wasting? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” he teased. He was half joking - _he’d_ enjoyed the morning, but it was hard to get a read on Tangleburr sometimes.

She gave him a sideways glance. “’Course,” she said. “But we ought to be contributing to the Clan, not just having fun.”

“Let's go back to camp and see what the state of the fresh-kill pile’s like,” Fireheart suggested. “If it’s fairly full, we could go switch someone out for border watch.”

“You’re determined not to do any real work today, aren’t you?” Tangleburr said, deadpan.

“I like border watches. Drag me before StarClan and tell them about it,” he joked. One side of her mouth quirked up in a slight smile no other cat would probably have even noticed - but satisfaction sparked in Fireheart’s chest watching it.

They made it back to camp a little after sunhigh, spirits high.

“Looks like there’ll be no border watch for you,” Tangleburr said, nodding to the sparse fresh-kill pile.

Fireheart didn’t reply, for he had noticed something strange in the entrance of the medicine den - after a few moments, Fleetwhisker appeared, walking backwards very slowly and haltingly. The medicine cat shifted his weight onto his back legs, as though he were carrying something heavy.

Trying not to move quickly enough to show his sudden nervousness, Fireheart trotted over, his conversation with Tangleburr forgotten. “Er, what’s going on?”

Fleetwhisker stumbled backwards with a grunt, dragging a black-furred lump after him. He let go of the lump’s scruff and gave Fireheart a desperate look. “Don’t - You can’t - Just let me do this,” he said.

Fireheart’s pelt prickled. For some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the lump. “What is that?” he said.

Something brushed Fireheart’s side and he saw that Tangleburr had appeared next to him, her yellow eyes wide, but she said nothing. Fireheart glanced between her and Fleetwhisker. “What is that?” he demanded.

“Let me do this,” Fleetwhisker repeated.

“I’ll go tell the cats on border watch,” Tangleburr said immediately. Almost as soon as she had said it, she was gone.

Fleetwhisker watched after her. He seemed more utterly lost than he had the entire time Fireheart had known him. Feeling more uncomfortable by the second, Fireheart said, “What is that?”

The medicine cat gave him a wide-eyed look, and opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but words seemed to fail him. He swallowed, and nodded to the lump.

Fireheart took a step forward toward it, and another. Glancing toward Fleetwhisker for confirmation, he reached out and touched his paw to the lump. It was cool to the touch. Steeling himself, he turned it over and found himself staring into Nightstar’s blank yellow gaze.

—

It took them only about an hour to collect the Clan and prepare the body. Fleetwhisker insisted on carrying it to the center of camp on his own, even though he was clearly struggling to do so. After offering him help several times, Fireheart was reduced to crouching in the shade at the edge of camp, watching anxiously as the medicine cat clumsily sorted through herbs and scattered bits of lavender over the leader’s body.

Princess and Graystripe soon joined him, returned from their training session. They didn’t say anything - it was hard to think of anything to say.

There was a cold, numb stone in his stomach, like there had been when he’d found out about Spottedleaf’s death, about Cinderpaw’s injury, but Fireheart didn’t have to wait for it to pass to know he wasn’t going to grieve. Not like the rest of the Clan, anyhow. They all knew Nightstar; he had been their leader. To Fireheart, he was an elder he’d met once and seen at a few Gatherings, hardly even a person.

The rest of the Clan gathered around the body, except Mowgli, who joined them in standing awkwardly off to the side. Fleetwhisker said the traditional words meant to send a cat to StarClan. Others spoke up and told stories about Nightstar. As a warrior, as a mentor, and as a leader, for those brief moons between his appointment and his illness. They spoke of him as a calm, capable cat. They talked about his quiet but steadfast pride in his Clan, with an unsaid _unlike Brokenstar_ hanging off the end of every sentence.

When there were seemingly no more stories to tell, the cats who wouldn’t be keeping a vigil broke off, returning to their dens or heading off to be alone. Tallpoppy herded the bored-looking kits back toward the nursery, promising them they could play a game. Only a few cats remained rooted firmly to the ground - Fleetwhisker, Blackfoot, and the elders, Dawncloud and Rowanberry.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Fireheart muttered, half to himself.

Graystripe shot him a frustrated look. “What are you going on about?” he said quietly.

“It isn’t our place to be here,” Fireheart said. “We’re outsiders, and this is so private. We don’t… belong here.”

“What, so you’re going to abandon them right when their leader died?” Graystripe said.

Fireheart looked away. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. But how could it possibly be fair to ShadowClan to stay here so long, to be here for ceremonies and funerals and the passing of seasons, knowing that they were going to leave? 

“You could try accepting where you’re at, Fireheart,” Graystripe said, still speaking quietly but obviously annoyed. “It might do you some good.”

Irritation rose in Fireheart’s chest. “I have,” he snapped. “I’m just thinking about the future.”

He paused for a second. It wouldn’t do any cat good for him and Graystripe to get into a fight while the Clan was grieving. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m going to go speak with Fleetwhisker.” He stood before Graystripe had the chance to respond.

The medicine cat was sitting over Nightstar’s head, staring despondently downwards - but his glazed expression suggested his thoughts were elsewhere. Fireheart sidled in next to him without speaking, letting their pelts brush and hoping Fleetwhisker would appreciate the gesture.

It was a while before the medicine cat reacted. Finally he flicked one ear and said, “I really didn't think this was going to happen.”

Fireheart didn’t reply.

“I knew he was taking a long time to get better, more than anyone else, and,” Fleetwhisker continued, swallowing, “I knew he was probably more vulnerable to the disease than anyone else. But I really thought he was going to be all right.”

He turned to Fireheart, yellow eyes wide. “I thought one of these days he was going to get up out of his nest and walk back to the leader’s den and things would just go back to normal.”

Fireheart wasn’t sure what to say. “Been a while since things have been normal here,” he managed.

“Not since Raggedstar,” Fleetwhisker said. “Maybe not even then.”

“I’m so sorry,” Fireheart said.

Fleetwhisker hung his head and said nothing.

They sat for a while, until the sun started to go down. There was a chilly wind blowing through the camp, lazy but steady, the first one in moons. If he strained, he could smell just a hint of rain on the wind, though the storm wouldn’t come for a while yet. 

Once the sun had set over the trees, Dawncloud and Rowanberry stood, stretching their legs, and bid the rest of them goodnight. A few moments later, Fireheart spotted Graystripe and Princess walking back to their den, watching him in a concerned way out of the corner of his eye. If he wanted to leave, he would do it now -

But despite his not really knowing Nightstar, a sense of duty to the Clan, and to Fleetwhisker, rooted him to the spot. He kept his eyes firmly on the sky, watching for moonrise.

“You don’t have to stay up,” Fleetwhisker said. Fireheart glanced over to him, but the medicine cat hadn’t moved - his head was still hanging limply between his shoulders. He looked utterly hopeless.

Fireheart thought about what Graystripe had said - that he might accept where he was at. He wasn’t sure anymore where he belonged, but his friend was right. For now, he was here and a part of ShadowClan. He might was well act like it.

“I know,” he said. 

“You’re a good cat, Fireheart,” Fleetwhisker said. Finally, looking as though it pained him deeply, he lifted his head again. “I’ve seen you reaching out to the rogues, bonding with the kits. You’ve done a lot for this Clan. Nightstar would be proud, I think.”

It was meant as a compliment, but Fireheart shifted uncomfortably. How could Nightstar be proud of him when he barely knew him? “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m just trying to help out. ThunderClan nosiness, I guess.”

Fleetwhisker gave him a long, strange look that made his pelt prickle with even more potent discomfort. After several minutes, the medicine cat said, “Are you really still ThunderClan?”

“Of course,” Fireheart said automatically.

“What is tying you back to them?” Fleetwhisker said.

He glanced down. He couldn’t possibly verbalize all the reasons. He still missed Cinderpaw deeply, and Cloudpaw. Whitestorm, Yellowfang, Brindleface. Sandstorm. And Bluestar, Lionheart, Spottedleaf, though they were gone, they were buried close to the ravine. And the ravine itself, its sandy floor and the way the flowers in the gorse tunnel had smelled his first spring in the forest. He missed hunting under a dark canopy in summer and keeping his paws dry most of the time.

Those were petty reasons, though. Because he knew that if he left ShadowClan now, he would miss things about it just as deeply. He had come to know the Clan, learned all their scents by heart. He had grown accustomed to the way the ground in the mire gave under his pawpads and the taste of frog.

But he had given his warrior’s vow in ThunderClan. He had sworn his undying loyalty to the Clan, to the ravine, to Bluestar. He had promised he would give his life for them. That had to mean something.

And…

“There’s one other thing I never told you about my time in ThunderClan,” Fireheart said. “When I was an apprentice, I spoke with Spottedleaf, and she told me… she said StarClan had told her that fire would save the Clan. They need me. I’m supposed to protect them.”

Fleetwhisker glanced upward. In the sky, the stars were brightening, and the medicine cat watched them for a few moments. “Do you know that prophecies are not immutable?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“It seems to me, Fireheart, that you think of fate like the shape of the river,” Fleetwhisker said. “As something that always has been, and always will be. Something that cannot be changed by the will of cats.”

“I suppose so,” Fireheart said.

“Well, do you know why ThunderClan and RiverClan fight over Sunningrocks?”

Fireheart shook his head.

“A long time ago, the river used to run a different way. In the winter, a cat could reach the rocks by walking across the ice, but in every other season it was impossible to get to Sunningrocks without swimming, so they belonged to RiverClan by their nature. But over many moons, the river eroded away at its shores and changed its course, and Sunningrocks ended up dry, on ThunderClan’s side.

Fate is like the river. It’s more powerful than any one creature, and it isn’t something that can be stopped. But it can change. It can cause itself to change. Prophecies are powerful, and they cannot be denied, but they are flexible.“

Fleetwhisker glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “After all, a fire burns brighter in the dark than in the light of day, and certainly one needs it more.”

Fireheart turned to Nightstar’s body. The breeze ruffled his fur slightly, a welcome change from the hot, dusty air of late.

Across from them, Blackfoot’s ears pricked up. Fireheart had almost forgotten he was there, but now the former rogue was sitting up straight, looking at the entrance. “Someone’s coming,” Blackfoot said.

Fireheart glanced at the entrance, listening for movement - sure enough, just outside, there was the rustling of leaves, the muttering of cats in quiet conversation. He opened his jaws and caught a hint of ThunderClan. Could Tigerstar have figured out where he was? He got to his paws, tensing for a fight, unsure whether he should wake the camp.

But what came through the ferns was not an invasion force but two cats, one limping, both strangely familiar though Fireheart couldn’t see their faces in the darkness. Unsure if the fluttering in his stomach was dread or anticipation, he stepped forward. “Who goes there?” he called out.

Both cats glanced up, yellow eyes glinting, and in a familiar rasp one said, “Fireheart?”

“Yellowfang!” Fleetwhisker said breathlessly. He rushed up to her, looking for a moment like a kit greeting his mother home from a patrol. They nuzzled one another affectionately.

Fireheart took several tentative steps forward, not completely sure if he was seeing straight. Yellowfang looked sickly, and her limp had worsened since he’d seen her last. Next to her stood Whitestorm, an uncharacteristic frustration darkening his features.

“W-what happened? Why are you here?” Fireheart said.

“This had better be a pretty good explanation, for two of ThunderClan's warriors to turn up here in the middle of the night,” Blackfoot growled, stepping forward.

Unconsciously, Fireheart waved his tail at Blackfoot in a signal to quiet down. To his surprise, the senior warrior obeyed without complaint.

But Yellowfang was still occupied in greeting Fleetwhisker, and Whitestorm was staring at Fireheart with amazement.

“You are in ShadowClan,” he said. “Sandstorm was telling the truth… and so were you, weren’t you?”

Fireheart blinked. Had he heard correctly? “Telling the truth about what?” he said evenly.

“About everything,” Whitestorm said. “Redtail, and Bluestar. I’ve been such a fool.”

Turning away from Fleetwhisker at last, Yellowfang glanced to Fireheart. “Whitestorm and I have been exiled by Tigerstar. We… couldn’t think of anyplace else to go.”

His blood went cold. “But why?”

“No reason at all,” Whitestorm said, clearly holding back a snarl. Fireheart blinked - he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Whitestorm angry before. The older tom took a deep breath and said, “I confronted Tigerstar over all the things he’s done over the past moons, and all the accusations you and Sandstorm both levied against him. He accused me of being a traitor, and when Yellowfang stepped in to defend me, he accused us both.”

Fleetwhisker took a step back, eyes narrowing. “That sounds a lot like…”

“Brokenstar,” Yellowfang confirmed. Her eyes traveled to Blackfoot, and she wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of which… what the hell is he doing here?”

“He’s on our side,” Fireheart said quickly. She snorted, but didn’t say anything else. “But what are you two talking about?” he pressed. “What has Tigerstar done over the past moons?” 

Yellowfang and Whitestorm exchanged a glance. “He split the Clan into two camps,” Whitestorm said, “and keeps us from knowing the goings-on of the other one. And he recruited two of Brokenstar’s old supporters… Clawface and Jag.”

He was interrupted by Blackfoot’s snarl. Yellowfang’s hackles bristled, and she stepped forward, obviously ready for a fight - but Blackfoot’s attention was not on her.

“Those spineless fucking pieces of crowfood,” Blackfoot growled. “We should have known better than to let them go off on their own.”

“We hardly could have done anything else,” Fleetwhisker muttered.

Yellowfang looked skeptical. “You knew about them?”

Fireheart opened his jaws to explain, but before he could, Blackfoot spoke again. “After Brokenstar’s followers were exiled and ThunderClan lot captured him, Tigerstar blackmailed us - including Clawface and Jag - into working for him. He planned to bring all of us in as his personal enforcers, once he felt the Clan wouldn’t rebel against the idea.” He nodded to Fireheart. “He found us before then, and offered us a place back here, but… Clawface and Jag always did have their heads up their asses.”

Suddenly, Yellowfang looked distinctly less hostile towards Blackfoot.

“He is on your side,” she muttered to Fireheart. “You pick up ShadowClan’s strays like lint, huh?” Despite the direness of the situation, his heart warmed. He had missed her.

“There's more than that,” Whitestorm said. “He forces the apprentices to train claws-out, and he was lying to them about Clan history - defending Brokenstar and saying that you and Graystripe planned out some whole conspiracy as apprentices to blame him for the kit-killings. Absolute insanity, but… the ‘paws took it as truth.”

Fireheart swallowed. How many cats in the forest believed that? Was it just ThunderClan, or RiverClan and WindClan, too? Would he ever be able to prove his innocence against Tigerstar’s wild accusations?

“He’s trying to force the queens to have more kits,” Whitestorm continued. “Willowpelt’s litter is only three moons, but he tried to intimidate her into having more… and Sandstorm said he threatened her as well.”

“Frostfur and Brindleface, too,” Yellowfang added softly. “Neither of them wanted more kits, but they felt it was best to just go along with it. I don’t think many of the toms know it’s going on at all. The mollies know what the cost of bad-mouthing Tigerstar is, even to their mates.”

“We got off lucky,” Whitestorm said darkly.

Fireheart wasn’t sure if it was possible for his dread to increase. “How do you mean?” he said.

“After you left, Darkstripe took Cloudpaw on as an apprentice… They didn’t get on, and Cloudpaw was always trying to rebel one way or another.” Whitestorm said. “Then after a while, Tigerstar found Cloudpaw sneaking off somewhere, and as a punishment, he made him fight Darkstripe in the middle of camp for everyone to watch. Since then, even Tigerstar’s supporters have known not to speak badly of him, in case they’re next.”

Unbidden, an image flashed in Fireheart’s mind of his nephew, bloodied and broken by a battle with a warrior twice his age and experience. He shut his eyes, willing it away. Could this have been prevented if he’d somehow managed to avoid exile?

“Is Cloudpaw all right?” he said.

“As well as any cat can be in that wretched place,” Whitestorm growled.

“He healed fine,” Yellowfang added, though there was still something like doubt in her eyes.

Fireheart tried to focus. “He didn’t make either of you fight anyone, though,” he said.

“I suppose he was a bit panicked,” Yellowfang said, amusement lacing her tone for the first time. “Whitestorm was making a lot of easily-proven accusations in a place where a lot of cats could hear.”

“I had hoped it might give him some sense of accountability,” Whitestorm grumbled.

Blackfoot snorted loudly; all eyes went to him again. “The chance of a cat like that feeling remorse is about as likely as seeing a flying hedgehog,” he said. 

Yellowfang said something else, but Fireheart missed it. He couldn’t stop thinking of how terribly things had gone, and how quickly. Could he have stopped all this somehow? Even without beating Tigerstar in that fight, or disproving the accusations… for moons now he’d watched ThunderClan border patrols go by and seen their tense, fearful expressions and not even questioned whether they were all right. Shouldn’t he have known?

Sandstorm… he’d seen her just a few weeks before, and she’d seen him too, he was sure of it. Had she longed to leap over the border then and there? Could he have helped her escape, saved just one cat even if he’d failed to protect the Clan?

He thought of something. “Whitestorm,” he said, interrupting the conversation which had moved on without him. “You said that Sandstorm accused Tigerstar of something too…”

“Er, yes,” Whitestorm said. “In private, she told me the same things you said - that he killed Redtail and Bluestar, and that Ravenpaw was alive and living at the barn. She knew you were here, too. I thought you must have spoken to her…”

“I haven’t,” Fireheart said, mind racing. Had she investigated things on her own? His heart ached - of course she had. And she’d tried to do the right thing by telling a senior warrior, but now that that cat was exiled, she was in even more danger than before.

He shook his head, trying to focus on useful things. “Did she say how she knew we’d come here?”

“I have no idea,” Whitestorm admitted. “At the time… I assumed she was working with you over the border. Now I don’t know.”

Glancing up at the sky, Fleetwhisker stepped into the center of the group. “This is enough discussion,” he said firmly. “It’s very late. Yellowfang, Whitestorm, you are obviously welcome to stay here for now, but I have a vigil I’d like to finish.”

For the first time, Yellowfang and Whitestorm seemed to notice Nightstar’s body, which looked terribly small in the center of camp with no cat sitting by it. “I’m so sorry,” Yellowfang said. “If I weren’t coming off a trip from Highstones I’d join you.”

Fleetwhisker nodded to Fireheart. “Would you mind getting them someplace to sleep?”

He nodded wordlessly, and as Fleetwhisker and Blackfoot returned to their vigil, Fireheart led Whitestorm and Yellowfang to an empty den on the other side of camp, one he had helped Bouldernose rebuild only about a moon before. “There’s no moss in there, but this should do well enough for shelter,” he said quietly.

“That's much better than what we thought we were going to get tonight,” Whitestorm said.

Fireheart couldn’t think of what to say in reply. He couldn’t stop thinking about ThunderClan, and everything he’d left behind there.

He jumped as something touched his nose, until he realized it was Yellowfang, rasping her tongue over his face affectionately like a mother would to her kit. “It’s good to see you,” she said.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “Both of you.”

The dark expression on Whitestorm’s face finally seemed to lift. “Good night, Fireheart,” he said. The older tom leaned forward and touched his nose to Fireheart’s ear a moment before heading into the den.

Yellowfang didn’t follow. Her eyes were sharp - it was the look she wore when trying to diagnose a patient. “Don’t you go worrying yourself sick over ThunderClan tonight,” she said. “No cat will be in danger while you sleep, and even if they are, you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“I won’t,” Fireheart said, and seemingly satisfied, she bid him good night and went inside as well.

As he went back to his den, he tried not to think too much about it. But it was hard to ignore the seething ball of worry in his stomach, and as he finally dropped off to sleep, all he could think was that he had failed them - his friends, his Clan, and Bluestar.


	36. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All our best-laid plans go up in flames. Tigerstar sees a sign. Sandstorm finds hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's an update schedule <3
> 
> yeah.. i meant to get this finished and uploaded a while back but then a lot of crazy shit happened.. but it's here now! Happy end of Act 2!
> 
> I'm hoping to get back to regular updates at the end of the month, but I also want to restructure Acts 3 & 4 so it might be a bit longer than that? We'll see! Next chapter will be in late December at the very latest.

When Sandstorm woke, it was so late in the morning that she could see the sun above the trees, yet as far as she could tell, she was in no trouble for sleeping in. In fact, the whole camp seemed strangely empty, with only a few cats milling about. There was an electricity in the air, and dark gray clouds were drifting in on the western horizon, buffeted by a cool breeze. Sandstorm fluffed her fur against it, even though it was a relief in the midst of the hot summer. _We’re overdue for a storm,_ she thought.

She yawned and settled over by the log where the warriors usually ate, not ready to volunteer for work quite yet if she wasn’t needed. Trying to relax and focus, she began to groom herself.

As she started her bath, there was a rustle at the gorse tunnel, and Jag emerged. He shot her a glance that was less hostile than usual, and with a strange look on his face, he made a beeline for Brightclaw. Whatever he said into her ear gave her an even stranger look. Sandstorm entertained for half a second the idea of asking them what was going on, but knew she’d rather stick her paw in a hornet’s nest.

She glanced over the rest of the camp, looking for some other cat that might be willing to explain the strange vibes going on, and noticed Cinderpelt, still in the ravine even though it was well into the morning. She was pacing outside the medicine den, back and forth, anxiety obvious in her every step. Which meant that Yellowfang wasn’t back yet.

For a moment, Sandstorm hesitated - she hadn’t spoken with Cinderpelt all day yesterday, and the medicine cat seemed determined to ignore her - but she would feel terrible ignoring her friend’s obvious anxiety. She trotted up to her, aware of Brightclaw and Jag’s eyes on them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sandstorm said quietly.

“I just want to get back to the Owl Tree camp,” Cinderpelt muttered. Her tone wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but it wasn’t forthcoming, either. Sandstorm’s fur prickled with frustration. 

She knew her relationship with Cinderpelt might become strange in light of what she had said last time they’d spoken, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard to see it happen. Especially since now she knew she couldn't trust Dustpelt…

Still, it wouldn’t help to try and push things. Sandstorm turned to walk away - and as she did, she felt Cinderpelt’s tail touch her shoulder. She glanced back.

Cinderpelt looked conflicted, half guilty and half stern. “Sandstorm…” she said, hesitating.

But before either of them could say another word, there was more rustling from the gorse tunnel, and Goldenflower appeared, followed by one of her kits - the tawny tortoiseshell.

Speckletail, who had been dozing in the entrance of the elders’ den, now jumped to attention and went across the camp to greet her. “Goldenflower!” she called. “Why are you here?”

Goldenflower swished her tail, clearly scanning the camp before speaking. “I’m sure Tigerstar will explain in a moment,” she said slowly, “but we’re evacuating the Owl Tree camp. Only temporarily, as a precaution.”

Sandstorm frowned. What could possibly be dire enough to prompt pre-evacuation of a camp, yet so easily avoided that the evacuation need only last a short time? 

“Would you take Tawnykit to the nursery?” Goldenflower said, and Speckletail nodded, herding the kit out in front of her.

Sandstorm went to Goldenflower, Cinderpelt limping along at her side, determined to get a better answer out of the yellow queen. But before they had even reached her, Goldenflower shook her head at them. “I’m not going to bother to explain it to you when some cat is going to jump up on Highrock and explain it within the half hour,” Goldenflower said firmly, though her tail - still swishing slowly from side to side - betrayed her nervousness.

“Where’s the rest of the camp, though? Do they need help evacuating?” Sandstorm said.

Goldenflower shook her head again. “They have plenty of warriors. And I was sent ahead with Tawnykit because I’m the only queen in camp,” she explained.

“What about Bramblekit?” Cinderpelt said.

“He’s with Tigerstar,” Goldenflower said, her tail still swishing.

A sudden yowl stung Sandstorm’s ear, and she turned to see Brightclaw had climbed the Highrock, and was standing atop it with a certain disdain in her eye. Jag was standing at the base of the rock, cleaning between his claws with feigned carelessness. Throughout the camp, cats peered out of the entrances of dens. “The cats from the Owl Tree will be arriving soon,” Brightclaw announced. “Be out here and ready for a Clan meeting. When he gets here, Tigerstar will be addressing you.”

“See,” Goldenflower said. With that, she turned and headed toward the nursery.

“Do you know what any of this is about?” Sandstorm demanded, turning to Cinderpelt - the awkwardness between them temporarily forgotten.

“Not a clue,” Cinderpelt said, wrinkling her nose. “Though, Goldenflower said Bramblekit was with Tigerstar. That at least means that Yellowfang made it back all right.”

“I suppose,” Sandstorm said, but she was still agitated. If she was being honest with herself, Yellowfang’s wellbeing had been at the back of her mind, in comparison with everything else. “Is it just me, or do Brightclaw and Jag seem to know more than the rest of us? Do you think the Owl Tree camp were already planning to evacuate by the time Jag went over to get orders for the day?”

“They must have been,” Cinderpelt murmured. “I know you were asleep, but he was gone since sunrise and he’s only just been back. I bet he was helping them get started on evacuating before TIgerstar sent him back. In fact…” Cinderpelt’s eyes glimmered. “I’m going to ask him what’s going on.”

Sandstorm gave Jag a nervous glance - his tail was swishing back and forth across the dirt impatiently, and he had moving on from pretending to clean his claws to straight-up flexing them. “I wouldn’t. He’s been itching for a fight all week,” she muttered.

“Can’t be as bad as Clawface,” Cinderpelt said grimly, and she started limping over to him.

Sandstorm, left behind, blinked with confusion. What was Cinderpelt talking about Clawface for? He hadn’t been seen in moons… since Fireheart had been exiled, in fact. If there was one thing Tigerstar’s reign had excelled in, it was keeping rogues off of ThunderClan land.

Shaking off her confusion, she followed after Cinderpelt. To her surprise, Jag didn’t lash out at them immediately as they approached, but rather didn’t acknowledge them at all.

“Hey,” Cinderpelt said firmly. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Jag said nothing. His eyes tracked a beetle crawling along the underside of the Highrock, but he made no move to squash it.

Cinderpelt’s hackles raised. “I am the primary medicine cat of this Clan,” she said. “Don’t withhold information from me.”

Before they could see whether Jag was going to reply, there was more rustling from the gorse tunnel, and Swiftstrike appeared. He immediately beelined it over to Jag. “We’re on our way,” he said. “Tigerstar said to gather everyone for a meeting, but it looks like you’ve already got that together.”

Jag nodded, but didn't take his eyes off of Cinderpelt. “Better go find someplace to sit,” he said, baring his fangs perhaps a bit more than necessary.

It was clear that he wasn’t going to tell them anything, and Sandstorm wasn't going to wait around for him to get frustrated enough to claw at them. She touched her tail to Cinderpelt’s side and led her away.

“This is getting absurd,” Cinderpelt said, looking mad enough to spit.

“I’m sure the rest will show up in a moment,” Sandstorm said. The camp had filled with cats now, with even the kits and elders coming out to hear what Tigerstar would say. They took a seat near the medicine den, and Sandstorm beckoned Brackenfur over to them. He and Cinderpelt started a conversation that sounded like a continuation of a previous chat, and so Sandstorm allowed herself to drop out of the conversation.

She wasn’t surprised to see Dustpelt sitting near the front of the crowd, dead center in front of the Highrock, and she didn’t bother to beckon to him like she had Brackenfur. That didn’t mean she didn’t glance at him out of the corner of her eye too many times to count.

Would he actually check on her claims like she had begged him to, or had he dismissed her out of paw? It would have been fair, she supposed. She must have sounded mad, telling him his dead brother was alive all along and the traitor to the Clan was actually a lost hero. But… they were best friends, supposedly. They were supposed to trust each other. Why hadn’t he trusted her?

She tried to shake off the uneasy feeling. If it was one thing she’d learned trying to convince cats of Fireheart's innocence, it was that Tigerstar’s words - his promises and his threats - had a power of worming their way into a cat’s mind, of distorting their priorities. Even she had succumbed to self doubt and procrastinated taking action many times, despite knowing with absolute certainty the dire stakes before her. She couldn’t blame anyone else for doing the same.

A breeze carrying ThunderClan scent rushed through the camp, and the Owl Tree patrol burst into camp, squeezing through the gorse tunnel seemingly all at once. Snowpaw raced up to Cinderpelt with the sort of enthusiastic speed only an apprentice could muster, and equally quick, Cinderpelt and him began signing back and forth. Brackenfur watched with obvious fascination.

Sandstorm, however, couldn’t focus on that. She found herself counting heads in the camp. When she had done it once, her fur prickled, but she did it again, counting each cat slowly to make certain she wasn’t seeing things. But…

There were two cats missing. Whitestorm and Yellowfang.

“Snowpaw, what happened to Whitestorm and Yellowfang? Did they stay back to clear the medicine den or something?” she demanded.

Cinderpelt nudged her apprentice, and Sandstorm realized he hadn’t been paying attention to see what she’d said. She repeated her question.

Snowpaw winced. He wiggled his tail for a moment, obviously thinking, and finally said “They’re… gone.”

“Gone?” Brackenfur repeated, obviously confused.

Sandstorm suddenly felt cold down to her bones. “Gone where, Snowpaw?” she said, surprising herself with how calmly she spoke.

“Tigerstar… sent them away,” Snowpaw said. “Last night, when he came from Moonstone. He wasn’t happy at them.” He hesitated another moment, but seemingly either losing his nerve or unsure how to say what else he wanted to say, he instead turned to Cinderpelt and signed something to her.

Sandstorm felt frozen to the spot. Sent them away. Did the medicine apprentice mean _exile_? But that couldn’t be… what could Whitestorm and Yellowfang have done to deserve _that_?

Across the camp, Tigerstar finally pushed through the knot of confused cats clamoring at the gorse tunnel, his fur spiked with obvious distress. He jumped onto the Highrock, pushing Brightclaw aside, and called a meeting. Sandstorm forced herself to calm down and listen.

“Cats of ThunderClan,” he announced. “Earlier this morning, we scented smoke coming from the forest near Fourtrees. As a precautionary measure only, the Owl Tree camp has evacuated. All patrols for the day are canceled; every cat will shelter in the ravine until the fire burns itself out.”

Sandstorm opened her jaws, trying to see if she could catch a whiff of smoke on the wind, but the air seemed strangely still, and all she could smell was rain. Still, that was a reassurance in and of itself; if the fire didn’t burn itself out, it would soon be put out by the storm, or be too weak to cross the stream.

The rest of the morning was distressing. Even though the ravine had felt strangely empty to her since Tigerstar had absconded to the Owl Tree, with all the Clan now back in it it felt over-full. It didn’t help that there were no patrols, meaning every cat was sitting in the clearing, same as her. 

Sandstorm tried to think of ways to keep herself busy, but there seemed to be nothing to do. Most cats scraped together makeshift nests to catch up on sleep, or huddled under the trees, exchanging worried words in soft tones. She thought about trying to come up with something to keep the apprentices’ minds off things, something that would help her as much as them, but Ashpaw and Fernpaw were both sticking by Dustpelt’s side, and she couldn’t bear to speak to him right now. And Snowpaw and Cinderpelt had disappeared into the medicine den, signing back and forth so rapidly Sandstorm wasn’t sure she would understand what they were saying even if she could read signs.

Unable to find anything to work on, Sandstorm found herself crouching alone on the edge of camp, grooming the insides of her forelegs until the hair there started to thin. 

As the day dragged onwards, the wind started to blow an acrid scent into the camp. The smell of rain was still present, but the storm had not yet broken, and the amount of smoke-scent being blown into the camp seemed to make it obvious that the fire had jumped the stream. With every passing minute, the air seemed to grow thicker and warmer, and a soft orange glow was starting to appear on the horizon. 

Sandstorm’s agitation only increased as she realized the fire was not going to burn itself out before reaching the ravine, and the rest of the Clan seemed to be having the same realization. Cats began to gather in center camp without a meeting even being called.

“Isn’t Tigerstar going to order another evacuation?” she heard Runningwind mutter.

“He’ll do what he thinks is best,” Goldenflower snapped in reply.

But Tigerstar, in fact, was nowhere to be seen. When a cat finally stepped up to address the Clan, it was Brightclaw, her eyes set with determination, but her swishing tail betraying her uncertainty.

“The fire is coming. We need to leave,” she said.

It was all some cats needed to hear. Frostfur and Speckletail turned around and headed straight into the nursery to start gathering kits. Over the sudden commotion, Brightclaw raised her voice to continue. “Head towards the river. With luck, we won’t need to cross.”

For a moment, Sandstorm stood frozen to the spot as the Clan rushed around her to help pick up herbs and moss, gather the kits, assist the elders. The air was thick, both with tension and the crackle of the coming storm, and for a moment she wildly wondered whether they even had to leave, whether perhaps the rain would still put the fire out before it arrived; but now the air was starting to grow dark and smoky, and orange tongues of flame were starting to lick at the trees at the edges of the ravine. 

With no cat to organize the evacuation, the Clan began to scramble out the gorse tunnel. _No one would notice if someone went missing in the chaos,_ Sandstorm realized. With a sudden new purpose, she jumped to her feet and started checking the dens.

The warriors’ and apprentices’ dens were, predictably, empty. In the nursery was only Runningwind, carrying one of his and Brindlefaces’ kits and shoving another, Goldenflower’s tom, out in front of him. As she peeked inside, he shouldered past her.

“I’ll help you as soon as I’m finished checking the dens,” she called after him, but he didn’t make any move to acknowledge her, too focused on getting out of the camp. Already the smoke had become so thick that it was difficult to see the gorse tunnel. It would be harder and harder to ensure the place was empty.

She had seen Brackenfur helping Speckletail and One-eye out of the elders’ den, so she was sure he must have emptied it; she headed toward the medicine den, and yelped as she bumped into something. Suddenly, she found herself nose-to-nose with Cinderpelt. Snowpaw emerged suddenly out of the orangey haze, and she realized he had been pacing anxiously around Cinderpelt as she limped toward the entrance.

“Sandstorm,” Cinderpelt said, sounding profoundly relieved.

“Is there any other cat in the medicine den?” Sandstorm said, not caring if she sounded sharp.

“No,” Cinderpelt said. “Let’s go.”

Sandstorm hesitated. There was one more den she hadn't checked. “I have to make sure of one more thing,” she said. The air was starting to warm, and even after only speaking a few moments her throat was getting scratchy. “Snowpaw, you can drag Cinderpelt up the ravine if you have to, right?” 

“He won’t have to,” Cinderpelt snapped.

Snowpaw’s tail was lashing back and forth violently. He looked terrified, and Sandstorm couldn’t blame him. But he nodded.

“I’ll be back,” Sandstorm promised, and she dashed off.

It was becoming easier again to see in the smoke, but that was because it had shifted quickly from a thick, dark gray to oranges and blacks. Something in the camp must have caught alight. But she wouldn’t forgive herself if there was a cat still in camp and she left them behind.

She ran to the leaders’ den and, hearing labored breathing inside, pushed aside the ivy curtain with a growing sense of panic in her chest.

Tigerstar was there. His sides were heaving, his tail twitching, and his pupils barely pinpricks. He swung his head to look at her, clearly suppressing a loud cough. “What?” he snapped.

Sandstorm hesitated.

If he died now… wouldn’t that solve all of her problems?

She could feel the air growing hotter. If she left him, he would almost certainly be killed… but then, he'd only lose a few lives at most. And he would remember who had come to fetch him, and who had deliberately let him die.

“There’s fire in the camp,” she said. “We have to go.”

“ _Sir_ ,” Tigerstar muttered, but he got to his feet. Irritated, Sandstorm trotted just behind him as they made their way across the camp. It was almost unbearably hot now - she could see flames on the camp walls - but he seemed unconcerned. There were a pair of shapes still moving at the entrance, Cinderpelt and Snowpaw.

Panic was beginning to bloom in Sandstorm’s chest. If they didn’t pick up the pace, they would all be seeing StarClan soon. Despite his obvious agitation, Tigerstar seemed insistent on walking at a normal pace. But they approached the edge of camp, and Sandstorm started to feel as though they might make it.

There was a loud and ominous _crack_ above them, followed by a deep groan as though the forest itself were sighing.

Every hair on end, Sandstorm looked up to see one of the oaks at the edge of the ravine slowly starting to tip over towards them.

Instinct drove her backwards at once, but without thinking she glanced at Tigerstar and realized he hadn’t moved. He was staring at the great tree as though it were the moon itself, utterly frozen to the spot. 

“Tigerstar!” Sandstorm screamed, suppressing her cough. The tree slipped further. He didn’t move. She glanced up again. It was halfway down the ravine, falling faster now. Summoning every scrap of strength she had, she jumped forward and took Tigerstar by the scruff, dragging him forward even as he dug his claws into the earth, praying she wouldn’t die for this -

There was a resounding _boom_ and Sandstorm felt herself flung into the air, and then pelted against the hard, sandy ground. To her surprise, when she opened her eyes she wasn’t dead. The trunk of the fallen tree lay a little ways away, burning brightly, the flames already reaching into the air.

Teeth still sunk into Tigerstar’s scruff, she dragged him to his feet.

He turned on her at once, looking half-crazed. His fur was stuck up at off angles and she wasn’t sure if it was from the smoke or his agitation. The orange light of the fire glinted in his eyes. He looked hellish.

“ _This_ ,” he yowled. “This is a sign! The fire has destroyed our camp, our Clan, has nearly destroyed me! This is StarClan telling me of our decimation! Fire - like Fireheart - he’s still coming for me! He-”

Losing her patience, Sandstorm snarled, “He won’t ever get the chance if you don’t start moving! I’m not losing my hide to a stupid fire!”

As if to illustrate her point, another branch cracked and fell a few tail-lengths away; both of them jumped as it hit the ground.

The fire seemed to die from Tigerstar’s eyes, and he glanced around as though he were only just realizing where he was. When Sandstorm turned and ran toward the entrance, he kept pace with her. 

They met Cinderpelt and Snowpaw soon after climbing out of the ravine, and ran through the woods as quick as they could - to Sandstorm’s surprise, Tigerstar didn’t try to pull ahead after they had to slow for Cinderpelt. Though Sandstorm jumped at every crack, no more branches fell, and the fire thinned as they approached the river.

“Look,” Cinderpelt called. “I can see Thorntooth up ahead. We must not be so far behind the Clan.” They sped up and called out to him, and after sparing Tigerstar a concerned glance, he helped them along until they had left the fire behind and reached the riverbank.

With the whole Clan standing on the riverbank in a thick knot, all obviously trying to ensure the safety of their own family members, it was chaos. Runningwind was standing nearest the forest, and seemed to be trying to count heads. As the group approached, he turned to face them.

To Tigerstar, he said, “With you all here, we have all the warriors.”

Tigerstar did not reply.

Sandstorm glanced at him. He looked as though he were watching the Clan, but on closer look seemed to be staring off into space. His fur had gone mostly flat, but he looked utterly empty and strangely small.

“What about everyone else?” Sandstorm said tentatively.

“The queens say they’ve all got their kits. Still working on everything else,” Runningwind said. He glanced back and forth between her and Tigerstar, obviously unsure who to address.

A few other cats had noticed their arrival now; Brightclaw appeared next to Runningwind after a moment, giving Tigerstar a long, examining look and then shooting Sandstorm a nasty glare. As Runningwind started counting again, Thorntooth and Snowpaw each walked away, and Longtail and Swiftstrike replaced them.

“Did you get the herbs all the way here?” Cinderpelt asked them.

Swiftstrike nodded and indicated a nearby hollow log with his tail. “Stored safely in there.”

She sighed. “That’ll help tonight. I won’t be able to do much for anyone’s throats without honey, but maybe the fire will avoid the medicine den.”

Runningwind’s fur spiked with alarm. “Um,” he said, turning back to Tigerstar. “I think three of the elders are missing. Halftail, Patchpelt, and Dappletail.”

Tigerstar said nothing.

Longtail twitched an ear. “I can go back to try and get them.”

“Me too,” Swiftstrike chimed in immediately.

“I’ll help,” Brightclaw added.

Still, Tigerstar did not speak.

His eyes had gone dull. Even though she hated him with every fiber of her being, some small part of Sandstorm couldn’t help but to feel bad for him. He was still standing just at her shoulder, swaying slightly, and she pushed up against him to support him.

“Go on,” she said. “Someone needs to go get them, after all.”

Longtail and Swiftstrike seemed as confused as Runningwind had, but nodded to her and took off. Brightclaw gave Tigerstar a long, searching look.

“Do you mean to go help?” Sandstorm said irritably.

The enforcer hissed and followed after Longtail and Swiftstrike.

Cinderpelt stared after them. “The fire doesn’t look like it’s slowing down,” she said. “I think we’re going to need to cross.”

“With all these kits?” Runningwind said.

“The river’s pretty calm this time of year,” Sandstorm said.

“We’ll still lose a kit if we try and carry them through the water,” Runningwind argued. “None of us know how to swim.”

She thought about retorting, but he was right that crossing the river would be a risk - especially since most of the Clan was probably too stressed to think straight. Tigerstar shifted and started to lie down, folding his legs in under him, and Sandstorm glanced helplessly at Cinderpelt.

Cinderpelt gave her a wide-eyed look in return, one that was clearly meant to convey _something_ \- but Sandstorm didn’t know what.

Trying to focus, she turned back to the forest. Cinderpelt was right - the fire was quickly approaching the river’s edge. Even now, smoke was starting to fill the air where they stood. If they didn’t figure out another option right now, losing a kit might become a risk they would have to take.

Just as Sandstorm was about to order Runningwind to grab a kit and start waving, there was a loud yowl from the other side of the river. She pushed past a few cats to see Leopardfur and a small RiverClan patrol standing on the other bank.

“ThunderClan,” Leopardfur greeted. “We thought you might be here. Do you need help crossing?”

“Yes, please,” Sandstorm replied, too exhausted and relieved by the sight of them to take offense at Leopoardfur’s superior tone.

The RiverClan cats came across and guided them to a shallower place in the river, not far down the bank. They started taking cats across, beginning with the queens and kits.

Leopardfur approached Tigerstar, who was glued to Sandstorm’s side once more, with some hesitation. He hadn’t given permission for them to cross, Sandstorm realized; she had. And if he was still catatonic once they had crossed the river and Crookedstar would want to speak with him, there would be problems coming.

But instead of explaining this to Leopardfur, she nudged him forward. “He might need extra help,” she said quietly.

Leopardfur narrowed her eyes and examined Sandstorm for a few moments. “If you say so,” she said, and took Sandstorm’s place next to him.

As the RiverClan cats slowly helped the whole Clan across, Sandstorm stood in the shallows with Runningwind, watching and waiting for the cats that had gone back for the elders. Only once a last few stragglers were paddling across did four shapes appear in the haze.

Brightclaw ran ahead on seeing them, her gaze hard. “Where’s Tigerstar?” she demanded immediately.

“He’s fine,” Sandstorm snapped. She nodded over to the other bank - with his fur wet he looked even more pathetic, but he was alive. “Did you get the elders?”

For once in her life, Brightclaw looked chastened, and she glanced away. “Swiftstrike’s coming with Dappletail,” she said. “And Longtail has Patchpelt, but he’s… well, you’ll see.”

“And Halftail?”

“He was already dead when we got there.”

Leopardfur appeared next to them again, and Sandstorm nodded to her. “Go on and cross,” she told Brightclaw. “You too, Runningwind. I’ll wait for them.” The other three warriors started across the river.

Swiftstrike and Dappletail reached the bank first, and Sandstorm waded forward and helped them through the shallows until a pair of RiverClan warriors came to take them. She returned to the bank, watching as Longtail grew closer - he seemed to be half-dragging Patchpelt.

She ran to meet him as they reached the water but, with horror, realized Patchpelt was dead.

“Why did you take him all this way?” she snapped.

“I couldn’t just leave him,” Longtail retorted.

“You left Halftail!”

“He was dead!”

“So’s he,” Sandstorm said, flicking her tail angrily at Patchpelt’s body, and Longtail’s eyes widened. Her stomach tightened as she realized he hadn’t known, or perhaps had been in denial.

“But… I carried him all this way,” Longtail muttered. “He was going to be fine.”

“Come on,” Sandstorm said, suddenly guilty. “We have to get to the other bank.”

“We can’t leave him now,” Longtail said helplessly.

“We have to.”

They went into the water, and Leopardfur swam to help them. When they made it to the RiverClan side, she glanced back at Patchpelt. “What about him?”

“He's…” Sandstorm said helplessly. Could he really be dead? And Halftail too?

Was it her fault for assuming some other cat had checked the elders’ den?

“It's no trouble,” Leopardfur said, and as they watched, she swam across and brought Patchpelt back.

When they were all back on the shore, Sandstorm stared down at the old black-and-white cat’s waterlogged fur. She swallowed what felt like a rock. “Thank you,” she said.

“Crookedstar will let you stay in our camp,” Leopardfur declared.

They went back to the RiverClan camp. Time started to feel a bit blurry to Sandstorm, like the hazy gray air in the camp as it had filled with smoke. As they walked, the storm broke, and rain began to pour over them. Just in time.

The RiverClan camp was well-sheltered, though, and some cat soon led her to a makeshift nest, where she collapsed into a heap, not sure if she was quite sleeping or dreaming or just wishing she was.

She woke to some cat prodding her.

Cinderpelt was standing in front of her. “Sorry,” she said. “I wouldn’t wake you, except you should probably take these, and… I also need to talk to you.”

Sandstorm lapped up the herbs Cinderpelt pushed towards her. There was some honey, which soothed her burning throat, and something else she didn't recognize but which had a funny, earthy taste to it. She sat up. “What do you need to talk about?”

Cinderpelt shook her head. “Not here.”

She led her to the RiverClan medicine den, past the nests full of dozing ThunderClan cats, into the crevice in the back where Mudfur must have slept. He was nowhere to be seen, presumably helping to treat ThunderClan’s ill.

In the dark, Cinderpelt’s blue eyes seemed to glow softly.

“You were right,” she said quietly.

Sandstorm frowned, trying to focus. “What? About what?”

“About everything. I mean, I haven't seen any more proof of the murders, but even if he hadn't done that, Tigerstar has lost his mind… I saw him under that falling tree, heard what he said to you after,” Cinderpelt said. “And he exiled Yellowfang. And… everything else he’s done. He’s a tyrant. I should have seen it sooner.”

Sandstorm found herself blinking back tears.

“You believe me?” she said.

“Yes,” Cinderpelt said. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t before.”

She felt a bit dizzy. Trying to focus, she glanced out into the outer medicine den where thin gray light was filtering in from outside.

“I talked to Snowpaw, too. He said he had spoken with you a little in private. So he’s with us as well,” Cinderpelt said.

“Yeah,” Sandstorm said.

“I do wish you’d told me my apprentice was going behind my back to join your rebellion,” Cinderpelt said, trying and not quite nailing a joking tone.

Sandstorm snorted. “It’s no rebellion. All I have is you and him.”

But… maybe that wasn’t all. After all, Cinderpelt’s mind had changed. Perhaps she wasn’t even the only one - was it possible Whitestorm and Yellowfang had been exiled for calling Tigerstar out?

Her mind started racing. If she could convince them, surely she could convince others. There must be more in the Clan who were unhappy with the way things were going. Brackenfur might not listen to Sandstorm alone, but surely he would hear out Cinderpelt. Speckletail would do anything for Snowpaw, particularly if the Clan’s last medicine cat backed him up. And Longtail, of all the Owl Tree cats, seemed least interested in upholding Tigerstar’s pettier rulings.

She had a foothold. She had a _chance_.

Cinderpelt blinked. “If it’s not a rebellion… what are you planning on doing? Tigerstar isn’t going to give up his power peacefully, especially not with half the Clan behind him.”

Sandstorm felt as though her mind were clearing. Last night, she had gone to sleep hopeless and miserable, convinced that she had failed in revealing the truth to every cat she’d spoken to. But that wasn’t the case - in fact, nearly the opposite was true.

Tigerstar had seemed convinced that the fire was going to destroy the Clan, and him along with it. But it had been just what Cinderpelt had needed to see the truth. And maybe, just maybe, that was going to save the Clan.

“I’m not sure yet,” Sandstorm admitted. “But we can start by trying to convince some more cats. And then… I think I have a few ideas.”


	37. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In RiverClan, Sandstorm regroups with old friends and makes a few new ones.
> 
> Warning: There is a lot of casual ableism in this chapter with regards to Snowpaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> America's having a hell of a week, eh?

Sandstorm ended up staying in the medicine den through the rest of the night and the early morning, too restless to get back to sleep. She and Cinderpelt spoke in hushed tones of which cats they thought might be sympathetic to their cause - and which should be avoided at all costs. Whenever Mudfur entered the den, they quickly changed their tone, speaking louder, leaning away from one another and pretending rather unconvincingly that Sandstorm was interested in the mechanics of medicine.

“He’s going to think we’re having an affair,” Cinderpelt said in a half-amused tone as he left the den for the third time.

“Better that than spread the news that we’re organizing a coup,” Sandstorm muttered.

Around sunrise, Snowpaw wandered in, yawning wide. “Morning,” he chirped brightly.

Cinderpelt glanced up from the juniper berries she was dividing into small piles and started signing to him, speaking aloud at the same time. “Hi, there,” she said. “Would you like to get started by going and checking on the elders for me? I’m worried about their joints in all this cold and wet, especially Smallear’s - and that’s not even mentioning the state of their nerves.”

Snowpaw shuffled his feet and cast his blue eyes to the ground. He didn’t sign at all, but only spoke. “Uh, I wondered if, maybe today, I hunt with the RiverClan apprentices,” he said, seeming almost bashful.

Sandstorm flicked her tail and glanced to Cinderpelt. It was unusual for a medicine cat apprentice to take on activities other than directly assisting his mentor. For that matter, why was Snowpaw so interested in hunting at all? But Cinderpelt said nothing. 

Into the ensuing silence, Snowpaw blurted out, “It's just, I talked to Dawnpaw last night after my mom went asleep, ‘n she said fishing doesn't need good ears, just good eyes. So I thought…”

Cinderpelt’s brows knit together in a pitying expression. Speaking gently and signing as she did, she said, “I understand. But I really need your help this morning. A lot of the Clan is very sick from the smoke and the distress, and you are needed here. But if you prefer, you can sort these berries while I go check on Smallear.”

Snowpaw’s ears flattened. He kicked one white paw at the dust. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Hey,” Sandstorm said, touching her tail to his flank. She didn’t fully understand the discussion that had just happened, but she got the sense that it was about an ongoing argument between Cinderpelt and her apprentice, and Snowpaw was obviously upset about it. “What if you showed me some signs for different herbs and things? Would that be fun?”

Snowpaw’s eyes went wide, and his ears pricked, as though he’d only just realized she was standing there. “Sandstorm,” he said.

“Er…” she nodded and tipped her head to the side to indicate a questioning, yes?

Stumbling over his words, the white apprentice said, “RiverClan deputy, she looked for you, wanted talk with you.”

“Leopardfur? But why?”

Snowpaw shrugged.

“Are you sure she wanted me?” Sandstorm said. Perhaps he had misread Leopardfur’s lips.

But Snowpaw lashed his tail and stuck out his lip, looking bad-tempered. “Yes, _you_ ,” he said emphatically. 

Sandstorm ducked out of the medicine den, brushing pelts with Mudfur as he entered. He gave her a strange look - one which seemed much more justified a moment later when she spotted Leopardfur, sitting outside Crookedstar’s den and staring her down. Pelt prickling uncomfortably, Sandstorm went over to her.

“Snowpaw tells me you want to speak with me?” Sandstorm said politely.

Leopardfur’s amber eyes flashed with annoyance. “That one’s a bit stupid, is he?” she said.

Narrowing her eyes, Sandstorm replied, “He’s deaf.”

“Oh. He’s a medicine apprentice, then? Nothing else to be done with him, I suppose.”

It wasn't a sentiment Sandstorm disagreed with, but hearing another cat say it, and so disdainfully, rubbed her the wrong way. She shifted uncomfortably. “What did you want to speak with me about?” she said.

“Oh, right,” Leopardfur said. “Well, listen. No pressure, because I understand it’s just been one night. But when do you think your Clan is going to return home?”

Sandstorm shut her eyes, trying not to think of how the ravine probably looked now - scarred, ashen trees crisscrossing the ground, generations’ worth of dens and camp walls burnt to smoke. “I don’t know,” she said roughly. “Why don’t you ask Tigerstar?”

The other molly’s brow raised. “Well, you know.”

“What?” she snapped.

“Take a look at him.”

Sandstorm glanced around, looking over the makeshift nests scattered throughout camp which her Clanmates were dozing in. Tigerstar was crouched with his tail half-curled around Tawnykit, eyes wide open but looking as vacant as he had the night before.

“I don’t think he would know the answer if I asked him,” Leopardfur said with quiet derision.

Sandstorm whipped around to face her again. “Why not Darkstripe, then?”

“You _can’t_ be serious,” she said.

Burning with embarrassment, Sandstorm flattened her ears. Leopardfur softened, and touched her paw to Sandstorm’s shoulder. “No need to be guilty over it, _you_ didn’t choose him,” she said. “Besides, any cat who looks can see who the real power is behind ThunderClan’s leadership.”

“Er, Brightclaw?” Sandstorm said, confused.

“What?” Leopardfur said, pulling back. “No… you.”

Whatever feeling of shame Sandstorm had been feeling over Tigerstar and Darkstripe’s behavior, it was immediately replaced by sudden bafflement, and she bit back a laugh which was prompted less by amusement than shock. “You’re kidding me.” _Is this because I was giving orders by the river last night?_

Leopardfur scoffed, apparently thinking she was joking - then narrowed her eyes and seemed to examine Sandstorm more intently. “You don’t need to pretend with me, Sandstorm. I understand your position perfectly - better than you may know,” she added, with an embittered glance to Crookedstar’s den in the roots behind her.

“Look,” Sandstorm said, lashing her tail. “I made a mistake when I decided for Tigerstar at the river about what we would do. He’s just ill, and I expect him to be better soon. _You_ should show more deference for your leaders and ask _him_ next time you want something of ThunderClan.”

Leopardfur looked as though she had bitten into something sour. “Very well then,” she said. “I shall - whenever he is well enough to answer. Until then, I suppose RiverClan will go on feeding you all indefinitely, even though leaf-fall is coming.”

“Point taken,” Sandstorm muttered. “I’ll ask Darkstripe if he thinks he’ll be sending a patrol across the river to scout through the ashes.” _That’ll get her off my back,_ she thought, satisfied.

Leopardfur nodded approvingly. “Well, then, whenever you’re ready.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, my apologies. Are you busy now? We can speak to him later this afternoon, if you’d like.”

“You’re coming with me to speak to him?” Sandstorm said incredulously.

Leopardfur licked one paw delicately, then brought it up to a golden-brown rosette on her rounded cheek, smoothing it down perfectly. “Of course.”

 _So why ask me to speak to him at all, if you’re going to be doing the talking?_ But she kept her mouth shut and straightened up. “All right, then, let’s go.”

Sandstorm wasn’t exactly sure where Darkstripe had disappeared to, so they began to search through the many different patches of makeshift nests which had been thrown together to accommodate ThunderClan. When they reached the nests just outside RiverClan's nursery, Sandstorm heard a rustling behind her, and then a heavy weight landed on her back.

In her ear, a voice that was still high and clear from kithood hissed, “We’ve got you now, ThunderClan intruder!”

Sandstorm tried to stand and staggered under the weight of the kit, then had her breath knocked out of her as the weight was doubled. “Y-yes, you’ve got me,” she said. “Could you let me up now?”

One of the kits gasped theatrically. “Don’t fall for her ThunderClan trickery, Stormkit!”

“All right, all right,” Leopardfur said, sounding unimpressed. “You got the better of her, good job. Now clear off.”

“Oh no! Leopardfur has been brainwashed by the ThunderClan cat! The only way to save her… is to kill the ThunderClanner!” Soft paws battered at Sandstorm’s ears.

She was about to resign herself to being a kit’s plaything for the next half hour or so, when a familiar voice called, “Kits! Get off of her right now!” and the weight disappeared from Sandstorm’s back. She sat up, caught her breath and took a look at the cat who had spoken - Mosspelt. The tortoiseshell queen came up and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Sandstorm, staring down the kits with a stern look.

Nodding to the tortoiseshell, Sandstorm said, “It’s good to see you, Mosspelt.”

Leopardfur glanced at Mosspelt suspiciously. “You two know one another?

“We spoke at a Gathering,” Mosspelt said, looking almost sheepish. “Come on now, Featherkit, Stormkit. I’m sure Leopardfur and Sandstorm are doing something very important, and don’t want to be disturbed.”

 _Featherkit? Stormkit?_ Sandstorm thought. She glanced at where the kits stood, finally getting a good look at them.

She would judge them to be about five moons old, perhaps a bit older. Stormkit had Graystripe’s wide forehead and scruffy cheek fur, not to mention his pelt color. Featherkit, on the other hand, looked superficially more like Silverstream, having the same silver tabby coat - but her long fur, stocky body, the amber tint in her ice-colored eyes all revealed her father’s blood.

It was strange to see them. Sandstorm didn't think of Graystripe often, but when she did, she often returned to the subject of his kits; she wished Tigerstar hadn’t given them away like they were worth nothing, and she wondered what they knew of their father, if anything. The fact that their play involved treating ThunderClan the same way ThunderClan kits tended to treat ShadowClan made her think they didn’t know much.

She nodded to them. “It's good to meet you,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about bothering us. But I would appreciate it if next time, you’d let me up when I asked.”

Both the kits had the good decency to look sheepish. Mosspelt prompted them, “Are you going to apologize to Sandstorm?”

“Sorry, Sandstorm,” Featherkit and Stormkit muttered in unison. Then Featherkit turned to Mosspelt. “Mama, can we go play now?” Mosspelt gave her an appraising eye, then smiled and nodded permission, and they were gone in a flash.

Leopardfoot flicked her golden tail. “Are you quite done?” she said to Sandstorm. It was striking how her petulant tone matched the one Featherkit had used only moments before.

“Hold on a second,” Sandstorm said. She turned to Mosspelt, who was already watching her. She wasn't completely sure how to phrase the question she wanted to ask. “Do they… do they know?”

Sighing, Mosspelt stared after the kits. They had scampered over to Crookedstar’s den, and now seemed to be daring one another to go in - it seemed they couldn’t stay out of trouble for longer than a few seconds. “I should tell them,” Mosspelt said in a soft, rasping voice. “I mean, they know that they’re adopted. But they don't know why. Thank StarClan, they haven’t asked me why. But they’re growing too old for the nursery, and I can't bear the thought of them meeting ThunderClan at a Gathering and… not knowing.” Mosspelt glanced back at Sandstorm, her smile having grown misty. “I wasn’t planning on you lot showing up in our camp.”

Sandstorm bumped her shoulder into the tortoiseshell’s sympathetically. “Well, we’ll be out of your pelt soon enough, I’m sure.”

Leopardfur coughed. “As much as I hate to interrupt this touching exchange,” she drawled, “your kits are waking our dear leader, I think.”

Indeed, they had disappeared into Crookedstar’s den now.

Mosspelt sighed again, and she closed her eyes, letting her shoulders slump for half a second before putting herself back together and springing up. She raced after the kits, calling their names loudly.

There was no amusement on Leopardfur’s face as she watched the queen go. “Can we move on now?” she said. Sandstorm rolled her eyes, but allowed the deputy to lead her away.

They passed near the elders’ nests next, where Snowpaw was trying to cajole a drowsy Smallear into taking his herbs. As Sandstorm and Leopardfur approached, the medicine apprentice looked up and visibly brightened on noticing them. Sandstorm waved her tail in greeting. Seemingly as reply, he signed something in their general direction.

Sandstorm had been feeling more and more curious about the signs Snowpaw used to communicate, so she sat back on her haunches and tried to copy the sign he had just done. The white apprentice suddenly broke into a fit of giggles.

“What did I do?” Sandstorm said. Snowpaw, still laughing, motioned for her to repeat herself, so she did.

“You -” he broke off, giggling again. “I sayed, ‘Hi, Sandstorm.’ But you mess up and say something rude.”

“Seems a bit risky to have the word for ‘Hi’ be so similar to something rude,” Sandstorm said, amused. Snowpaw snorted, his whiskers still twitching.

Leopardfur wrinkled her nose. “ _That's_ how he communicates, then?” she asked Sandstorm.

Snowpaw narrowed his blue eyes. Sandstorm was surprised to notice his claws flexing into the dirt - the action seemed wholly uncharacteristic for a medicine cat apprentice. “Yes,” he said simply, meeting Leopardfur’s gaze.

The RiverClan deputy looked down at him, seemingly thoroughly unimpressed. “I don’t see how any cat could understand it,” she said haughtily.

Something occurred to Sandstorm, and she filed the thought away for the future. Then she smiled apologetically at Snowpaw. “Come on, Leopardfur. I don’t think Darkstripe is here,” she said. 

“Too right he’s not,” Leopardfur said irritably.

After searching the whole camp and coming up empty-pawed, they finally found the ThunderClan deputy wandering the territory, following a shrew’s scent trail, as he explained when they came up to greet him. Apparently it hadn't occurred to him not to hunt on another Clan’s land. Leopardfur was visibly holding herself back from insulting him when Sandstorm intervened and said, “Darkstripe, were you planning on sending a patrol to scout through our forest once the fire seems to be burnt out?”

He kept his head low as he answered. “Er. No?”

“Well, maybe you ought to,” Sandstorm said patiently. “We should figure out if there’s any danger there, and how soon we can go back.”

“Are you sure Tigerstar-” Darkstripe began.

She cut him off. “I don’t think we want to overstay our welcome,” she said.

“It's up to Crookedstar how long you can stay, of course,” Leopardfur added. Sandstorm glanced up at her, surprised - while Leopardfur had been speaking rather roughly all day, her tone was suddenly angelic. She continued, “But I’m sure you’d much rather not anger him when your Clan is so vulnerable.”

Darkstripe’s eyes flicked between them indecisively. For a moment, Sandstorm almost managed to feel real pity for him.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Is that all?”

Leopardfur smiled sweetly. “Oh, you can go back to camp. If you’re hungry, you need not hunt - I’m sure someone will help you find something to eat. You’re ThunderClan’s deputy, after all.” The flattery made Darkstripe hold his head visibly a little higher as he headed back to camp.

Sandstorm and Leopardfur watched him go, standing side by side. Once he had gone, Sandstorm turned an appraising eye to the RiverClan deputy, who seemed lost in thought. Leopardfur had done nothing but irritate her and boss her around all morning. But with how she had so easily manipulated Darkstripe into doing as she wished he would… Sandstorm could now see why the golden molly was deputy, and how, just maybe, she might be a good ally in the future.

Keeping this in mind, Sandstorm leaned over to the other molly. “What a lout, huh?” she said.

Leopardfur glanced at her. “You’re not kidding,” she said. “It’s no wonder you have to do his job for him.” This time, Sandstorm didn’t try to correct her.

They walked home along the riverbank. Sandstorm kept sneaking glances over into the burnt forest. Only a few days earlier it had been green and lush, but now it was a portrait in stark blacks and grays, the occasional plume of dark smoke in the distance smudging the picture. She pricked her ears. “Do you hear that?” she said.

“What?” Leopardfur said.

“Twolegs,” Sandstorm said. “Out in the forest.” Leopardfur didn't seem interested, but Sandstorm thought it didn’t seem like a great sign. What were they doing out there? What could they possibly want with the land?

When they reached camp again, Sandstorm went back to the medicine den. Cinderpelt barely glanced up as she entered. “Leopardfur wanted a favor, then, did she?” the medicine cat said.

“Ugh, yes,” Sandstorm said. “But that's not important. Listen - I thought of something.”

“What’s that?”

“When Snowpaw signed something to me, and I _tried_ to sign something back - Leopardfur said she had no idea what we were saying,” Sandstorm said. “You and him need to teach me how to sign. And not just me, but whoever else we can get on our side, too. That way, we can communicate secretly around those who haven’t learned to sign yet. And since Tigerstar thinks Snowpaw is useless, we should be able to go on using it under his nose for a very long time.”

Cinderpelt glanced over to her now, blue eyes thoughtful. “Using Tigerstar's prejudices against him,” she said. “I like it. Plus, if we ever wanted to have a secret meeting, that would mean we could do it in near-silence.”

Sandstorm nodded enthusiastically and went to reply, but interrupted herself with a huge yawn. Cinderpelt’s eyes widened. “That’s right,” the medicine cat said. “I woke you up very early, didn't I?”

“I’m fine,” Sandstorm said.

Cinderpelt shook her head. “No, you need your sleep, Sandstorm. Do you need poppy seeds to go to sleep?”

“No.”

“Then as your medicine cat, I insist you take a nap,” Cinderpelt said warmly, and with that, she stood and pushed Sandstorm toward the entrance of the den.

As Sandstorm trotted off to her temporary nest, she didn’t feel tired at all. In fact, her paws were tingling with the anticipation of successful planning. But once she had laid down, she found that her excitement wore off, replaced by tiredness and finally sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In answer to a question that's come up several times in the comments: Yes, Fireheart is going to keep his limp. Back in Chapter 9-ish when he got injured, he got a fracture in his lower leg and, since he never really spent as much time lying around healing as he was supposed to, it ended up healing improperly - so like many poorly healed fractures, it's basically going to cause chronic pain & stiffness on and off forever. The pain is also partly psychosomatic, which isn't to say it's any less real, but just to say that since he often refuses to deal with his emotional reactions to traumatic experiences, that psychological stress gets channeled by his brain into physical pain. Obviously Fleetwhisker is a dedicated medicine cat, but he doesn't have enough medical knowledge to _know_ all this, let alone explain it, so I figured I'd put a full explanation here. :)
> 
> Also, I was a bit glib about it above, but seriously, if you are in the U.S. right now, please stay safe.


	38. Tigerstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tigerstar's life is spiralling out of control. Darkstripe breaks the camel's back. Bramblekit talks to strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now more than ever, writing this story has made me realize that the timelines/aging in TPB is extremely wack

Even once the smoke cleared from his eyes and throat, all Tigerstar could see - all he could think of - was fire. He knew he should have been caring for his Clan. He should have been speaking to Crookedstar and planning ahead, he should have been asking Cinderpelt and Snowpaw about the health of the elders and kits. But something stopped him from even moving without another cat guiding him.

Since two mornings previous, Tigerstar had found out that Whitestorm and Yellowfang were traitors, and been forced to exile them. Then, his territory had burned to ash - just as StarClan had promised it would when he visited them. He shivered. How much else of that terrible vision would come true? Would Runningwind and Brightclaw be mauled, maybe killed? Would the stars go out?

Would he be killed by his own kits?

ThunderClan were stumbling into quickly-scraped-together piles of bracken and dirt in the RiverClan camp even as the storm broke, too exhausted to try to find any places to sleep better sheltered than under the trees. Tigerstar felt as though he were watching himself from the outside, floating just outside his body, as he trailed after them. 

He himself had hardly collapsed into a nest when Goldenflower appeared in front of him, Tawnykit trailing reluctantly behind her. His heart sank as he realized his mate’s fur was bristling with alarm and rage. He had already argued with her yesterday over his exiling Whitestorm and Yellowfang - he was sure she was angry now over his poor handling of the fire.

“I know,” he said, before she could speak. His voice sounded hoarse.

Goldenflower blinked. “What?”

Tigerstar was almost desperate. He didn’t want to argue with her - he wanted her to understand. He wished she would lie down with him and tell him everything was going to be all right. “I know,” he rasped. “I know I’ve fucked everything up, I know.”

Her yellow eyes slitted. “Are you seriously throwing a pity party for yourself right now? No… you have no _idea_ what you’ve done, have you?” she snarled. “Tell me now. Where is Bramblekit?”

As she said the words, it felt as though the air had disappeared from Tigerstar’s lungs. “What?”

“I knew it,” Goldenflower hissed. “You lost him. And now he could be-”

“ _No_ ,” Tigerstar said emphatically. He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying desperately to remember. He and Bramblekit left the Owl Tree camp, they had walked side-by-side in the forest, and then-

His eyes popped open. “I sent him to the nursery to be with you and Tawnykit.”

Goldenflower closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose; when she looked at him again she looked as though she were about to cry. “I wasn’t _in_ the nursery,” she said.

It felt as though Tigerstar’s ribs were tightening in his chest.

“You lost our son,” Goldenflower said. She was staring at him with dawning horror in her yellow gaze. “You left him there in the fire. He- he could be-”

“No,” Tigerstar repeated. “I- as soon as the fire burns out, dear-”

It was as though he had struck her. Goldenflower reeled away. “Don’t call me that!” she screeched. “This… this is your fault!” She turned and stalked across the camp.

Tigerstar watched her go. He felt as though he was drowning in the river, swallowing rocks, still breathing in the dark and heavy smoke of the fire. “I _will_ find our son, and he will be safe,” he called after Goldenflower. But he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her, or himself.

He didn’t know what he was going to do if he couldn't find Bramblekit. He didn’t know what he was going to do if he couldn’t get Goldenflower to forgive him. He turned and threw himself into one of the makeshift nests RiverClan had provided, shoving his face into the bracken, almost relishing into the way it scratched at his face.

“Papa?” came a squeaking voice from behind him. He jumped, then sat up and turned around - he had forgotten Tawnykit was there.

She was five moons old now, growing tall and lanky, but in that moment she looked terribly small. He just pulled her close and buried his muzzle in her pelt. At least he still had one of his children.

“Papa,” Tawnykit said, her voice muffled by his fur. “You _are_ going to find Bramblekit, right?”

“I will,” Tigerstar said. His words sounded hollow, even to himself.

But somehow, Tawnykit seemed to believe him. She shuddered, and leaned into him at first - but after a few moments, she grew impatient with his affection and wriggled out of his grip. Then she yawned wide.

“You’re tired,” Tigerstar murmured. “You’d better go back to your mother.”

Tawnykit stared up at him with wide eyes. “But I want to stay with you.”

She could not have said something to melt his heart more completely, to make him feel both so much worse and so much better. “Of course, dear,” he said.

Despite feeling tired to the bone, Tigerstar couldn’t seem to sleep. He crouched in his nest, mind swimming with thoughts he couldn’t avoid, comforted only slightly by the feeling of his daughter’s warm body pressed against his side and the sound of her soft breathing. He wasn’t even completely sure if he was still awake, or if he was even tethered to reality - everything felt like a blur around him.

He had no idea how much later it was when he was jolted into awareness by a paw prodding at his shoulder. The sky seemed lighter - had he spent the whole night drifting in and out of his own body?

Glancing up, he saw that the cat that had prodded him was Darkstripe. Tawnykit was gone from his side, and nowhere to be seen.

“Er, sir,” Darkstripe began uncertainly.

Immediately, Tigerstar knew that the deputy’s concern was going to be something inane; something he couldn’t even think about right now. Was it too much to ask for a cat who could handle a few minor problems on his own when Tigerstar was going through such a crisis? Was it too much to ask for a cat that could sense when his presence wasn’t wanted?

He said none of this out loud. He flicked his ears, indicating the deputy should go on.

Apparently bolstered by the encouragement, Darkstripe stood a bit straighter. “I have some good news, Tigerstar. You see, I spoke with Crookedstar.”

Tigerstar wanted to bury his head in the bracken again.

“We agreed that ThunderClan could stay here for two days,” Darkstripe continued, looking almost proud of himself.

They would be lucky if another rain came and put out the last of the fire by that time, Tigerstar thought. Given how dry the territory had been for the whole summer, it was likelier that the grass would be smoldering under ThunderClan’s feet as they picked their way back home.

Darkstripe was still standing with his head held high, watching Tigerstar expectantly.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Tigerstar growled.

Whatever Darkstripe had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. The black-striped deputy’s ears drooped, and he flicked his tail uncertainly. “… No more clever than you, sir.”

“Did you even think to wake me before you started making decisions for my Clan?” Tigerstar snarled.

“Wake you? Er, you weren’t sleeping,” Darkstripe said, shrinking. “I just thought you must be-”

“Of course I was sleeping, you imbecile,” Tigerstar said. “Or did the smoke cloud your vision so much that you’ve forgotten how to see? You’ve cost us time. I could have negotiated for us to at least stay until the next rain.”

“But… But Leopardfur said if we stayed too long, we might anger Crookedstar, and since we’re so vulnerable…” Darkstripe said.

“Is Leopardfur your leader?” Tigerstar growled.

“…No.”

“Then stop listening to every idea she plants in your ear as though your head is filled with nothing but cobwebs,” Tigerstar said. He typically managed more willingness to put up with Darkstripe’s behavior, but in this moment he was finished. He shoved his face toward the deputy’s, getting close and hissing, “You’re _useless_. You’ve tested my patience. And you’ve reached the end.”

Darkstripe leaned away from him, crouching down. “I’m sorry, sir...”

“It's much too late for that,” Tigerstar growled. He dug his claws into the dirt beneath him. Darkstripe just stood there looking at him stupidly. “What are you standing around here for?”

“Er, sorry,” Darkstripe repeated, and he backed off.

Tigerstar slumped back down onto the ground. He would need to pick a new deputy - there was nothing else for it. He just needed an excuse, however thin, for doing it. StarClan only knew that the Clan was in too precarious a position for his making sudden unexplained changes without causing widespread stress and panic.

His every muscle felt tightly wound, as though he were still in his den while the fire was coming for him, as though he were still watching Whitestorm and Yellowfang reveal their true allegiance, as though he were still in the throes of StarClan’s terrible vision. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Cloudstone and Brightclaw approaching him, and he internally groaned.

“Are you all right, sir?” Cloudstone said. He stepped forward and swept his tail from side to side, hitting Brightclaw in the face - the movement didn’t seem accidental. “Could I fetch you a piece of prey? I noticed you haven't eaten.”

Brightclaw shot the white warrior a nasty look - which disappeared instantly when she turned her attention to Tigerstar again. “I can ask around and collect volunteers for the patrol to find Bramblekit, if you like, Tigerstar,” she said.

His heart sank with guilt and despair. It wasn’t as though they could have gone back into the forest while it was still on fire, but with every hour that Bramblekit was alone in the ruined forest, it was more likely that he might die, from the fire or from smoke inhalation or from being picked off by a particularly opportunistic predator…

“No need,” he said. “I’ll go alone.”

Brightclaw’s lip jutted out, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sure? If you take a full patrol, you can cover more ground.”

“No,” he repeated. He needed to be the one to find his son. He _had_ to make this up, to Goldenflower and Bramblekit both.

Cloudstone stepped up, shoving Brightclaw aside and ignoring her hiss of indignation. “And do you want to eat before you go?”

The white warrior was right - Tigerstar had hardly eaten in the past two days - but he didn’t feel hungry at all. 

He appraised the two young cats. He certainly couldn’t leave Darkstripe in charge of the Clan while he was gone. But to grant one or the other guardianship over ThunderClan while he was in the forest would be to give them a clear sense of victory over the other. While Brightclaw and Cloudstone’s competing with one another had irritated him at first, he had started to notice how it drove each of them to be more attentive, enthusiastic warriors - and he could use as many of those as he could get right now.

Over the tops of their heads, he spotted Sandstorm, stretching as she woke up in a nest just outside the medicine den. He blinked, remembering how she had been the only cat to check where he was during the fire, how she had put her own life in danger to save his, even knowing he had nine lives. Her close friendship with Fireheart had once made him doubt her, but now…

“That’ll be all from both of you,” Tigerstar said gruffly to Brightclaw and Cloudstone. Before either could answer, he shoved past them and headed for the medicine den.

Sandstorm seemed surprised to see him approaching her. She said nothing, just watched him.

“Just the cat I wanted to see, my dear,” Tigerstar said, forcing his voice into a rough purr. With everything that had gone on, it felt unnatural, so he dropped it. “I will be… checking on the state of the fire myself this afternoon. If you could watch over the Clan while I am gone, I would be forever indebted.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why not Darkstripe? Or a… senior warrior, like Brightclaw or Jag?”

Wasn’t she just grateful to be asked? “Darkstripe is incapacitated at the moment,” he said smoothly. “And I don’t see why I should choose a less-experienced warrior, or a former rogue, when I could so easily ask you. Will you do it?”

Sandstorm looked at him for a long moment, then finally, slowly nodded assertion. “I will,” she said. “But I do have one thing to report. I heard some Twolegs in our forest earlier. They don’t seem to have waited for the fire to burn out to encroach on our territory - though I don’t know why they were there.”

Tigerstar nodded, though he didn’t see how the information could possibly be important. Twolegs were strange - it wasn’t unlike them to do such strange things. “Well, I’ll be off,” he said.

Since the weather had been so dry recently, it was easy to cross the river via the stepping stones. The forest beyond was visibly charred. The trees were darkened and gray, and the dark smell of fire still hung in the air. There were charred, black paths on the ground where the fire had blazed, and wisps of light gray smoke still curled away from them. But there were no visibly burning areas on the path Tigerstar took towards the ravine and, with careful steps, he avoided the embers.

He was clinging to the hope that if he could find even a whiff of Bramblekit’s scent in the camp, he might be able to follow it, to wherever his son had hidden or fled. (Not died, he told himself. Bramblekit simply couldn't be dead.) 

The ravine was almost more devastating to see than the burnt forest itself. It looked completely foreign. The gorse tunnel and the camp walls were almost completely burned away, leaving only a few sooty, bare branches obfuscating Tigerstar’s view of the camp from the top of the ravine. The dens had been burnt so badly that if he didn’t have the camp’s layout memorized, it would be difficult to tell where most of them were. The Highrock survived, as did a charred husk of the fallen log where the elders slept; Tigerstar’s heart clenched as he saw a limp body huddled just inside the entrance.

He started to pick his way down the side of the ravine. When his tail brushed against one of the twigs that remained in the camp wall, the whole section crumbled to ash on the ground.

To Tigerstar’s disappointment, there was no scent of Bramblekit anywhere in the air - or indeed, any scent of cat at all, except what little still clung to Halftail’s corpse. He made a note to himself to ensure the old cat was buried when the Clan returned. For now, that was a task that would take him too long.

With no leads, Tigerstar suddenly felt much less hopeful and much more uncertain about the prospect of finding Bramblekit. Despair settled in his paws. He started to plod towards Fourtrees, not knowing of what other place to go.

Then, a scent caught his attention. Buried under all the smoke and char was just a hint of ThunderClan - not just ThunderClan, but a scent he would know anywhere. _Bramblekit had made it out of the ravine._

Tigerstar put his nose to the ground, desperately casting around for the source of the scent - but it had vanished as quickly as it came, and he had nothing to track.

Still, the knowledge that his son had left the ravine meant that Bramblekit had, indeed evacuated with the rest of the Clan. He must have simply been separated from the rest of the group. Tigerstar looked up at the trees, trying to imagine them bathed in fire. If he were a small kit, all alone in the forest and having no idea which way was safe, where would he run?

Obviously Bramblekit hadn't continued towards the river, or else some cat would have noticed him. Where, then, had the kit gone?

Could he have run east, toward Twolegplace? That would have taken him away from the heart of the fire, and if he had gone fast enough, he might have even been able to outpace it. Desperate to be right, Tigerstar veered away from Fourtrees and started heading towards Twolegplace along the southern side of ThunderClan territory.

As he walked he saw, off in the distance, a single doe picking her delicate way through the ashes just as he was. Was she looking for her fawn, he wondered? But Tigerstar found that she reminded him much more of Goldenflower than himself. The doe was beautiful, graceful, and motherly - and yet he was certain that if he strayed too close to her, she would not hesitate to kick him with her powerful hooves and end his life.

Was his relationship with Goldenflower beyond repair? Had he so thoroughly fucked up that she would never forgive him? The memory of her blazing yellow eyes as she snarled at him flashed through his mind. Goldenflower was not exactly soft-spoken when she had a disagreement with someone, but Tigerstar had _never_ seen her so angry before.

East of the ravine and heading towards Twolegplace, it was clear that the fire had started to burn itself out. The ground cover was still largely destroyed, but the trees were less charred or even still had leaves. A small, dark pit settled in the bottomest part of Tigerstar’s stomach as he realized he still had no trace of Bramblekit’s scent; what was more, he had no real idea if his son had gone in this direction at all. There was simply nothing to go off of.

 _If I have to search all day and all night, I will,_ he thought. _I’ll look through every pawstep of territory._

But when he reached the back border of ThunderClan territory, Tigerstar did not turn around to investigate a different area. Instead, he found his paws carrying him over the border, into the land where the ShadowClan rogues had lived. He started walking in a direction chosen at random, not sure if he was still searching or just trying to find a place where he could stand and not be reminded of his failure.

Up ahead, through the trees, he head a quiet miaowing. His heart raced - it sounded vaguely familiar.

Without even stopping to think, Tigerstar burst into a run and raced toward the noise. He skidded to a stop in front of two cats, both of whom looked up at him with wide eyes.

Bramblekit jumped into the air, obviously delighted to see him. “Papa!”

The other cat was small and slim, and even as Bramblekit spoke she moved her sleek tail to brush his side protectively. She had a long, angular face and a cream-colored pelt, with rich brown markings at her face, ears, paws, and tail. She glanced Tigerstar up and down with brilliant blue eyes.

“Are you Bramblekit’s father, then?” she said, in a voice that was rich, yet soft.

Tigerstar was suddenly aware of how disheveled he looked, and he leaned down to lick his chest fur into place. “I am,” he said. Turning his attention to Bramblekit and trying to sort out all his worry and relief, he continued, “Didn’t Goldenflower teach you not to speak to strangers?”

The kit’s ears drooped. “Well… yes,” he admitted. “But Sasha isn’t a stranger. She found me, and she was going to take me to you!”

Tigerstar glanced suspiciously at the cream-colored molly. Sasha was a strange name. He reached out with one paw and beckoned Bramblekit to come over to him, and the kit obeyed, pressing himself warmly against Tigerstar’s side. “Where are you from?” Tigerstar said.

Sasha very obviously hesitated. “That way,” she said, pointing with her tail towards the Thunderpath.

That way was the scrubland between ShadowClan’s territory and the Twolegplace; it was hardly hospitable, and certainly didn’t have easy enough hunting to support this cat, with her lack of obvious muscle. It was a lie, and a barefaced one. From the scent of Twoleg on her and her unusal pelt color, she was most likely a kittypet. But Tigerstar almost appreciated that she was challenging him, even if she might not realize it.

“My name is Tigerstar,” he said gruffly. “I suppose I’m indebted to you for finding my son.”

Sasha glanced away, eyes downcast, but a smile curved her mouth. “It was nothing.”

“It means quite a lot to me,” he said. 

“Well then, I suppose I’m obligated to say you’re welcome,” Sasha said, glancing up at him again.

“There's no obligation to be felt,” Tigerstar said. “If there’s anything I can do to repay you…”

Sasha shook her head, but she was fully smiling now. “Believe me, it was enough of a treat to have some company for a little while,” she said. “Bramblekit is a charming young cat, and you ought to be proud of him.”

At her words, Bramblekit, who had been looking back and forth between them like he was watching hail bounce off of the ground, sat up a little straighter. “I liked talking to you too, Sasha!” he said enthusiastically.

Tigerstar and Sasha both glanced at the kit and laughed. When Tigerstar looked up at her again, she was already looking at him, her eyes sparkling. He realized that that was the first time he had laughed in weeks, maybe moons.

He should have already taken Bramblekit and left. There was no reason to talk to a kittypet this for this long. But something about him was dreading going back to the RiverClan camp, where all his problems would be waiting.

“If you enjoyed the company, perhaps you’d like to enjoy it a while longer? You could walk with Bramblekit and I to the river,” he offered.

“Well, I don’t see any reason why not,” Sasha said.


	39. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireheart rouses the Clan and has an epiphany.

In the morning, Fireheart emerged on a camp which felt strangely lethargic. Rather than the usual hustle-and-bustle of everyday life in ShadowClan, warriors were lying despondently in shady spots, sharing tongues silently or staring off into space. The only cats missing were Fleetwhisker and Blackfoot, who, along with the body of Nightstar, had disappeared from the center of the clearing. Presumably they were sleeping off their vigil.

The fresh-kill pile was empty, too, Fireheart noticed. He had no desire to force cats into action if they were still mourning, but some cat needed to go out or else everyone would go hungry - and no one seemed to be taking the initiative of organizing patrols. There was nothing else for it. He would have to step up.

He glanced around for a proper place to gather everyone around and work out who would go where. His eyes drifted toward the great rock where Fleetwhisker made announcements.

It would certainly be the easiest place from which to try and make and organize the Clan… but something about stepping up there felt like it would be a violation of some sacred trust. Fireheart settled for standing just under the rock, where his orange pelt was clearly visible against the stone, and his voice would still echo out into the whole camp. He yowled to call everyone’s attention.

To his great surprise, the warriors didn’t just glance up or prick their ears, but actually stood and started to gather in front of him. Bouldernose took a spot near the front and gave Fireheart a friendly nod. Even Tallpoppy slipped out of the nursery and sat just outside, her yellow gaze analytical.

“Er, no cat need to do this if they’re not feeling up for it,” Fireheart said, suddenly feeling awkward with all the eyes on him. “And I know daytime hunting is a bit unconventional. But I figured that we ought to send out some hunting patrols - and probably border watches, too,” he finished lamely.

There was nodding. A couple cats - Stumpytail, Rowanberry, and Flintfang - turned around and went back to where they had been laying before, obviously not ready to patrol yet. But no cat spoke. They all seemed to be waiting for him to tell them what to do.

Even though his stomach had turned, Fireheart took a deep breath. What did Fleetwhisker do when he was organizing patrols? What had Lionheart, even Tigerclaw done?

He hadn’t noticed Graystripe and Princess before, but now Princess spoke up, flashing him a sympathetic look. “Unless you really need us for something else, Fireheart, Graystripe and I are going to go train by the chestnut tree today,” she said.

He nodded gratefully. Now that she had broken the odd silence, it seemed less intimidating to try and get things settled.

“Well… for starters, why doesn’t Fernshade lead a hunting patrol northwest, towards the pond? And then perhaps Russetfur could take another patrol east,” Fireheart said.

Fernshade sat up straighter, looking Fireheart in the eye and nodding. “I could take Littlecloud and Whitethroat, if you two are interested,” she added with a glance to the two younger toms. They both nodded.

“I’ll come too,” Mowgli offered in a rather hoarse voice. The calico queen looked surprised that he spoke to her, but dipped her head graciously.

Russetfur glanced around, her dark green eyes flashing in the low light provided by the cloud-covered sky. “Who wants to come with me?” she said.

Oakfur pricked up his ears. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll come too, when I’m finished getting everything organized,” Fireheart put in. “As for border watches, Ratclaw and Bouldernose, do you think you could take the WindClan side?” Both of them nodded. Fireheart glanced around, searching for whichever cats were still free. But the group was already filtering away, heading towards the camp tunnel to leave for their tasks.

Tangleburr was left. She stepped forward. If she wasn’t so hard to read, Fireheart could almost have sworn there was a glint of something like amusement in her gaze. “I can take the ThunderClan border,” she said, “Since you’ve forgotten to assign any cat there.”

Too relieved that she had finished his job for him to question the look she was giving him, Fireheart simply said, “Thanks.”

She only shrugged. Then, to his utter surprise, she stepped forward and gave him a quick lick on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later,” she said nonchalantly, and then she, too, had left.

Fireheart stood there for a moment in mild astonishment. As far as he could recall, Tangleburr had not so much as touched another cat since he’d met her - let alone done so in a way that was openly affectionate. Given all the time he had spent hoping she would open up, he was startled.

And the more he thought about it, he was happy - not for himself for getting her to be friends with him, but for her. In the first conversations they had had, it had been obvious that Tangleburr was miserable in ShadowClan. Knowing that she was less alone now warmed his heart.

With a step that felt much lighter than before, he set off to join Russetfur’s patrol.

—

When the patrol returned in the early afternoon, Fireheart dropped his catch on the fresh-kill pile before glancing up and seeing Whitestorm and Yellowfang sitting in a shady spot under a tree and talking quietly. He grabbed a blackbird Oakfur had caught earlier and headed over to them.

“Strange time to go on patrol,” Yellowfang rasped.

Fireheart laid down on her left side and pushed the blackbird towards her and Whitestorm. At her comment, he twitched his tail, a little embarrassed. “I figured it might be best to get food in everyone’s stomachs, even if daytime hunting is… unusual,” he said.

Something he said must have been strange, because Yellowfang frowned, and Whitestorm paused mid-bite to stare at him. The two older cats exchanged a glance. “You organized the patrols?” Yellowfang said.

“Er, yeah,” Fireheart said. He had a strange urge to go hide somewhere; he wasn’t sure what the look they were giving him meant, but he didn’t quite like it.

Whitestorm pushed the blackbird over to Yellowfang, who gratefully lowered her head, and chewed rapidly. After swallowing, he said, “Fireheart, who is the leader of ShadowClan now? We’re glad that you and Runningnose are okay with us being here, but we really need to speak with them, whoever they are.”

 _Oh, right._ “There… really isn't one,” Fireheart said. “Nightstar’s deputy died ages ago. He never had the strength to name a new one. I’m… not sure what we do now.”

“It’s the medicine cat’s job to choose a new leader now,” Yellowfang said, shaking her head. “With guidance from StarClan - hopefully.”

“Then Fleetwhisker is as good as leader right now,” Fireheart said firmly. “And I’m sure whoever he ends up naming will be fine with you two staying, too. For as long as you like.”

Yellowfang passed the blackbird to Fireheart, and as he took a bite, silence hung in the air. Then Whitestorm sighed, long and low, and put his head down on his paws. When Fireheart moved to push the fresh-kill back to him, the old white tom just shook his head.

“It may not be a matter of how long we _like_ ,” he said. “Truthfully… I cannot imagine Tigerstar’s grip on the Clan loosening. Most of the Clan is willing to ignore the problems he’s caused in exchange for the security he’s provided. There hasn’t been a single challenge from rogues or the other Clans since he took leadership.”

“What do you mean?” Fireheart said.

“I don’t know,” Whitestorm admitted, closing his eyes. “I wish I could go back to ThunderClan, but not Tigerstar's ThunderClan. I miss the ThunderClan from when I was young. Everything just feels so different now.”

Yellowfang was watching him with a sympathetic gaze. She moved her paw over and nudged him. “You must not lose faith in the Clan, Whitestorm,” she said. “There were always cats who were unhappy with Brokenstar’s reign, and that was what led to his downfall. A tyrant will never last long before he tears himself down.”

Whitestorm, looking troubled, just shook his head again and didn’t open his eyes.

Yellowfang’s words reminded Fireheart that this was not the first time she had been exiled from a Clan. “Is it strange to see everything happening just the same again?” he asked her softly.

She shook her head. “Not as strange as it should be. Once you’ve seen what some cats can convince themselves to believe… you can't be surprised when they keep on doing it,” she said.

“And is it strange to be here again, in your old home?” he asked.

The older molly glanced around, clearly examining the camp. It was all bright greens and browns, with a few yellow leaves peeking out from between their neighbors. Then she looked at him. “I don’t know,” she said. “I grew up here, and that means something. I know this camp and this territory and this Clan, and that means something. But I don’t think I could ever live here again. I’m not sure I could trust the cats who watched me get exiled without a word. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to leave ThunderClan. That’s my home now.”

Fireheart stared at his paws. Her words had struck a chord in him. For moons, he had thought of his allegiance as being tied to the place where he had spent his apprenticeship and given his warrior’s vow. It had felt almost as though if he left ThunderClan behind, he would be leaving those things behind too - those things he _couldn’t_ forget the importance of. It was like Bluestar had told him, those many moons ago, when he was just a kittypet in the forest. If he joined a Clan, he had to reject whatever had come before. _You cannot live with a paw in both worlds._

But maybe Bluestar was wrong, because Yellowfang was right. Moving on wasn’t a betrayal. Accepting his present, changing his future - those things didn’t have to mean ignoring his past.

Yellowfang brushed her tail against his side. “You all right, kit?”

“Yeah… fine,” he said. “Only I just realized something. I… I think I want to stay here.” Saying it out loud made it feel solid and real. Fireheart pressed his paws down into the mud and sat with it.

Yellowfang gave him a long look. “You sure?”

He nodded slowly. “I am. You know, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He stood up and headed for the entrance. He needed to tell Graystripe and Princess.

As Fireheart made his way through the forest, he was quickly distracted from his determination by a heaviness in the air and the smell of smoke. He wasn’t sure if fire would be a big problem in ShadowClan’s territory - it _was_ a marsh, after all - but still, he sped up and tried not to worry too much. The smoke only grew thicker as he approached the border.

Yet he didn’t actually see any flames before reaching the chestnut tree just a few fox-lengths from the Thunderpath. Graystripe was sitting at the roots of the tree, looking up. Fireheart, coming up next to him, followed his gaze and spotted Princess perched in the upper branches and peering out into the smoke.

“How’s training going?” Fireheart said.

Graystripe shot him a perturbed glance. “We’re having an impromptu climbing lesson,” he said dryly. “It’s been burning over there since we got here, but the smoke has been getting thicker. We’ve been keeping an eye on it.” The gray tom paused and glanced up at Princess. Raising his voice, he called up, “Any updates?”

“I don’t know. Let me come down,” Princess’s voice floated down from the tree. A few moments later, she had half-climbed, half-slid down the chestnut tree. She shook out her forelegs after she landed. “My legs are going to hurt for days. I’ve never climbed so much in my life.”

Graystripe leaned down and pressed his forehead into her side affectionately. “Sorry. I should have thought of that.”

She leaned over and rasped her tongue over his ear. “No, I’m glad of it. I need to stop being such a soft kittypet.”

Fireheart glanced away into the forest. His sister’s relationship with Graystripe still made him a little uncomfortable, for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down. He was happy that each of them were happy - it was just something about them being happy _together_ that was bothering him. But he also didn’t like that it bothered him, and he didn’t quite want to know why it did. He was a little scared of what he might find if he went digging. So he stayed quiet.

After a moment, Princess pushed Graystripe off and gave Fireheart a worried look. “Do you think ThunderClan is okay?” she said.

“I hope so,” Fireheart said. He peered through the trees to ThunderClan’s forest, but the smoke was thick enough there that it was impossible to tell where the fire was burning or how quickly it was moving. “I guess I just don’t know,” he said. “But if nothing else, Tigerstar is clever enough to keep the Clan out of danger.”

“Except when that danger is himself,” Princess said. “Are Whitestorm and Yellowfang doing all right?”

Fireheart blinked. “Yes, but… how did you even know they were here? They showed up so late last night.”

“We spoke with them this morning, before you woke up,” Graystripe said. “Whitestorm told us a little bit about what Tigerstar has been doing. It sounds so awful. I keep thinking, most cats probably thought I was stupid for coming with you into exile - but I’m so glad I did now.”

Fireheart sighed. “That fire is making me very glad you did, too.”

“So you weren't glad of it before the fire?”

“Shut up.”

Princess rolled her eyes and waved her tail to regain their attention. “There's nothing we can do about the fire except to keep an eye on it and hope it doesn't cross the Thunderpath,” she said. “And there’s nothing we can do for ThunderClan, at least, not right now. Why did you come down here, Fireheart? Do you need us for something at the camp?”

“Oh, right,” he said, shuffling his paws. He knew what he wanted to say, but he was suddenly nervous - he couldn’t be sure how Graystripe and Princess would respond. Maybe he was alone in his desire to stay in ShadowClan. Maybe they wanted to go to ThunderClan once all the trouble there was over.

“Fireheart? Hello? You in there?” Graystripe said, lifting one forepaw and waving it around.

Fireheart grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. Well, listen - I think I’ve decided that I want to stay here in ShadowClan. Not just for the short term or until I can prove my innocence to ThunderClan or anything, but… forever.”

Graystripe and Princess both just looked at him with wide eyes.

“I know it’s a bit of a radical change,” he said nervously.

“Fireheart, mate…” Graystripe said. “I sort of thought that was already the plan.”

Fireheart blinked. “You did?”

“Well, I thought you might have noticed, but we’ve been here _five moons_ ,” Graystripe said. “If you or I had some whirlwind romance in our first few days being here - _not that I did,_ ” he added when Princess gave him a glare - “the kits would be out of their blues and losing teeth by now.”

“I- I guess I didn't think about that,” Fireheart said. “Everything’s been happening so fast..”

“Five moons, Fireheart,” Graystripe repeated, looking unimpressed.

“So does this mean that you’re okay with staying here? That you’re both okay with staying here?” Fireheart said. For all that Graystripe was making fun of him, he couldn’t help but be delighted.

“Of course,” Princess said. “I wouldn’t have come out of my Twoleg nest to join a Clan if I weren’t okay with, you know, joining said Clan.” Okay, so she was making fun of him too.

“Hey, I genuinely hadn’t decided until now,” Fireheart protested.

Graystripe twitched his whiskers, still amused, but Princess reached out and put her forepaw over Fireheart's, pressing down lightly but reassuringly. “I’m really glad you’ve figured out what you want,” she said. “Really. Now, come on. I don’t think we’re getting any training done with all this smoke in the air, and it doesn’t seem like the fire’s coming north, so let’s head back to camp.”

—

When they reached camp, the sun was hanging just over the trees, red and hazy. Now that he had noticed it, Fireheart could smell the fire from ShadowClan’s camp, but dark clouds quickly rolling up the horizon promised that the flames would be put out before they ever became a danger, even if they did cross the Thunderpath. Feeling strangely peaceful, he headed for the medicine den.

It was always cool and dark in Fleetwhisker’s den, and Fireheart pressed one cheek against the rock wall to cool off. The medicine cat poked his head out of the back area where he slept and kept his herbs. “Fireheart? Do you need something?”

He shook his head. “Just wanted to talk.”

Fleetwhisker’s eyes narrowed, but one side of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Well, you can come and talk all you like - but the price is that you have to help,” he said. With that, he disappeared back into the back area.

Fireheart stepped forward nervously. He had never been so far back in the medicine den before, even during those long weeks when he had laid in here at almost all times. He was surprised to find that the rock opened up into a very small, fern-lined clearing. Fleetwhisker’s nest was built under a small overhang jutting out from the rock - otherwise, there was no roof. All the herbs lay in dirt hollows scraped out of the ground, beneath the leaves of the fern bushes.

As he stepped in, Fleetwhisker pushed a pile at him. “Go through these and sort the ones which have gone bad into their own pile,” he said. “If they look at all wilted, or if there’s any mold on them - even just a tiny spot - they’re bad.” The medicine cat turned back to a pile of small yellow flowers. H seemed to be sniffing them in turn before sorting them out.

Fireheart glanced down at his own pile. It was a small pile of ivy leaves, each about the size of his paw. “What are these used for?” he said, beginning to inspect them.

“Nothing medicinal,” Fleetwhisker said. “But since not much dock grows on our territory, ShadowClan medicine cats typically use ivy to store other herbs instead. That way, what dock we have can be used for its actual, medicinal purpose.”

“Huh. Why bother to keep the ivy from wilting, then?”

“Mold and rot spread between plants just like diseases spread between cats. Best way to keep your stores healthy is to keep your ivy healthy.” Fleetwhisker sighed, shook his head, and brushed the entire pile of yellow flowers aside with his tail. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I’ve decided I’m going to stay in ShadowClan. Forever, that is. Not just until things get better elsewhere. I mean,” Fireheart said, suddenly growing nervous, “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course we will,” Fleetwhisker said. He said it so immediately, with such a matter-of-fact tone, that Fireheart’s anxieties vanished at once. Everything felt so… calm, all of a sudden. He turned back to the ivy and kept sorting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (almost) one year of Brighter Fires! Technically the anniversary is tomorrow, but, well, Sunday's not on my posting schedule.


	40. Bonus: Snowpaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowpaw goes on a mission.
> 
> This chapter includes ableist treatment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Snowpaw time!

“Come on, Waspkit,” Snowpaw said with a sigh. “You’ve got to take these herbs.”

Brindleface’s two-moon-old daughter was staring up at him from where she sat in a pile of scraped-together bracken, her eyes wide and one paw pressed firmly over her mouth. She shook her head violently at him. Snowpaw’s ears drooped.

It was the morning they were supposed to be leaving RiverClan camp, and Cinderpelt had ordered him to coerce the kits into eating some daisy and burnet. The walk to the ravine wasn’t really that long, but it had been an exhausting week for the kits, and according to Cinderpelt, they would probably need a little help keeping up their strength.

But… well, it wasn’t like Snowpaw _minded_ helping the kits. He knew that being part of a Clan meant doing one’s part to take care of the other members, even when it wasn’t always as exciting as hunting and patrolling and fighting. He just wished he could do the exciting part sometimes. Even tasks that Ashpaw and Fernpaw claimed were the most excruciating parts of being trained as a warrior, like picking the elders for ticks or changing out moss in nests, seemed much more interesting than spending endless hours sorting stupid herbs.

Maybe he was being a little too bitter about it. But the fact was, Snowpaw had never _wanted_ to be a medicine cat. He had just woken up one morning and it was his apprentices’ ceremony and Tigerstar had _assigned_ him there.

A small paw prodded at his side, reminding him of where he was. He glanced over to see Sootkit. “I can help,” the kit said.

Snowpaw wasn’t about to argue. He passed the herbs over to Sootkit. “Chew them up until they’re soft enough for her first,” he instructed. With that done, he glanced up and looked around for Cinderpelt. She was still with the elders, but it looked like she was just chatting, not still treating them, so he went up to her.

He touched her shoulder with his tail to get her attention. He knew that technically he could just say something to her - but that just felt weird to him, especially when other cats always had to touch him to get _his_ attention. Cinderpelt turned to him expectantly.

‘I’m done with the kits. Is there anything else you need me to do?’ he signed.

Cinderpelt shook her head, and sat back on her haunches to reply. ‘No. We’re leaving in a few moments.’

Snowpaw glanced around. Standing up near the entrance to the RiverClan camp, Brightclaw and Leopardfur were speaking, and Tigerstar standing next to Brightclaw, looking out over the camp. Maybe they’d just made some pronouncement that the Clan was about to go, but he had missed it.

A moment later, Leopardfur nodded briskly, looked on the camp and yowled something. It was impossible to tell what - Snowpaw had gotten really good at reading lips, but yelling and snarling both completely eluded him. To figure that out, he would have had to learn and memorize a whole new set of shapes. At some point, it was best to just let other cats translate for you.

The Clan headed towards the river, Snowpaw sticking close by Cinderpelt’s side. It was still cloudy after the rain, and the forest on the other side of the river seemed terribly gray and ashen. Even the water itself looked less blue and more the color of slate. It almost reminded Snowpaw of spring, when he was a kit; but he knew that seasons were changing and fall was coming, even if he’d never seen fall himself. Speckletail had said it was a time when all the leaves turned orange and fell off the trees. He wondered what would happen now that there weren’t any more leaves.

They crossed at the stepping stones. It was hard to cross without being able to dig his claws into the ground below him - they just slid off of the stone. When Snowpaw was on the last stone, Sandstorm landed next to him, then brushed past him and jumped up to where Tigerstar and Brightclaw stood on the bank.

For a second, seeing her was exciting - maybe she had some plan to somehow take down Tigerstar right now? - but the ginger molly just said something which made Brightclaw hiss and Tigerstar nod. 

Snowpaw landed on the bank and glanced back at the water. The rest of the Clan was crossing quickly, but a RiverClan cat had tagged along and was helping Cinderpelt swim across. She had jumped across the stepping stones three days ago to escape the fire, and she hadn’t complained about it, but even if Snowpaw didn’t like being a medicine cat he knew enough to know when a cat was in pain. He wasn't entirely sure, though, who had asked for an escort to come help her. No one ever seemed to tell him anything.

Cinderpelt was the last cat to cross the river. She shook out her pelt and thanked the RiverClan tom, who just nodded and slid back into the water. When they kept walking, Snowpaw stuck to her side, not wanting to accidentally leave her behind.

They weren’t heading for camp, he realized after a few minutes. His suspicions were confirmed when Sunningrocks came into view. Brightclaw leapt up on the rocks, and Snowpaw concentrated hard to figure out what she was saying when she spoke.

“We’ll rest here for a little while. The Clan is tired, and we need to scout and see whether the ravine is safe,” she said.

Snowpaw turned to Cinderpelt. ‘Who’s tired?’ he signed, twitching his whiskers to indicate that he was joking.

She cuffed him over the ear. ‘The kits, fluff-brain,’ she returned. ‘Why do you think I made you give them traveling herbs?’

He glanced around. Most of the Clan seemed to be settling down on the rocks, content to soak up what little warmth was there. His stomach growled - he hadn’t eaten this morning, and he was pretty sure most cats hadn’t. 

He glanced back at Cinderpelt. Uncertainly, he signed, ‘Could I… go hunting?’

The gray medicine cat gave him a long, sympathetic look, and Snowpaw tried to keep himself from bristling defensively. He knew that whenever he asked Cinderpelt about the possibility of going to a training session with the other apprentices, or trying to learn to hunt, she pitied him more than actually considered his requests. It was _annoying_. He wished she’d just take him seriously. But complaining only seemed to make her regard him as more of a kit, so he’d long since shut up about it.

Finally Cinderpelt blinked and signed, ‘Well, we’re back on ThunderClan land now, so… sure.’

Trying not to bounce up and down and betray his excitement, Snowpaw nodded, and raced into the forest.

He stayed within sight of Sunningrocks, and soon found a spot that wasn’t too badly burnt. There was still some ground cover and even thick undergrowth in a few spots, and the bark on the trees looked more brown than gray. He paused and sniffed the air, but it was hard to pick up anything other than soot.

Except… there was a strong scent of ThunderClan, a _fresh_ scent, and it seemed to be drawing nearer. Not just any ThunderClan, either. It was Tigerstar, Brightclaw, and Cloudstone.

Snowpaw’s pulse spiked. What were they coming out here, away from the Clan for? Maybe they were just hunting like him… but weren’t they the leaders of the Clan? Why were _they_ hunting?

His imagination spun. Maybe… maybe they weren't hunting at all. Maybe they were going off to discuss their next evil plans for the Clan! But no cat would no what those plans were… unless, of course, some plucky young apprentice were to spy on them. It could be like a first real mission for the rebellion Sandstorm and Cinderpelt were planning. He'd show them how useful he was!

With no further hesitation, Snowpaw dove into the undergrowth.

It wasn’t a second too soon. The bracken was still quivering behind him when Tigerstar stepped into view, but the huge tabby was obviously too distracted to check around for apprentices hidden in the undergrowth. Tigerstar crossed to a spot between the roots of a nearby birch and settled, watching Brightclaw and Cloudstone approach.

The enforcers were already bickering, but Tigerstar lifted his tail and ordered them to stop. Snowpaw crept forward, concentrating hard and trying to commit every word to memory.

“We need to determine how quickly we can get the Owl Tree camp running again,” Tigerstar said. “Every second the Clan is re-integrated is a second we risk destabilizing ourselves and losing our grip on the territory.”

 _I was right!_ Snowpaw thought. _They are talking about their evil plans. Wait, they’re still talking. Focus, Snowpaw!_

Brightclaw was talking now, looking uncertain. It was harder to pick up what cats were saying when looking at them from the side, but Snowpaw crept forward another couple of pawsteps.

“There's simply not enough cats to rebuild two camps,” Brightclaw said. “Let alone to feed over a dozen kits and elders and keep up our standard of border patrols. Something has to give here. I recommend it be the second camp.”

Cloudstone very obviously rolled his eyes. “Not enough cats, my ass. There’s plenty enough.”

“No, there's not,” Brightclaw argued, bristling.

“The Clan is the largest and strongest it’s ever been,” Cloudstone said. He shot Tigerstar an almost-exasperated glance, like he was thinking, _can you believe her?_ But the leader just stared back at him with an unreadable gaze.

Brightclaw was speaking again. “We’re still not _infinite_ ,” she said, holding back an obvious snarl. “So unless you want to go back into Twolegplace and ask some of your friends for help, _kittypet_ -”

The long fur on Cloudstone’s back spiked, and he hissed, teeth bared. Something glinted near his paws, and Snowpaw gasped as he realized the enforcer had unsheathed his claws.

Then, he realized that all three cats’ ears had pricked, and remembered that other cats could hear it when he gasped.

Snowpaw tried to wriggle backwards through the undergrowth to an open space where he could run, but Cloudstone dove through the ferns and was on top of him in a second, flattening him. The white warrior was snarling something at him, and Snowpaw couldn’t hear it - but he could feel the strength of Cloudstone’s growl, vibrating through his body.

Then claws pierced the skin of Snowpaw’s scruff and he yelped as Brightclaw dragged him out from under Cloudstone, then shoved him out of the undergrowth and in front of Tigerstar. He shrunk to the ground, staring up at the leader’s cold amber gaze. There was something terrifying about the way that it hadn't really changed at all.

Tigerstar’s eyes flicked up to somewhere behind Snowpaw - obviously he was listening to something one of the enforcers were saying, but Snowpaw didn’t dare look and try to read their lips. He curled his tail around his paws. He wasn't sure exactly what happened to cats who disobeyed Tigerstar. But he knew the older cats were scared of it enough to sometimes speak of it in whispers he couldn’t read, and then tell him he didn't really want to know.

The vibration of a growl startled Snowpaw out of his imagination, and he glanced up at Tigerstar, whose muzzle was pulled up in a snarl. “I said, can you understand me?” he said.

Snowpaw should have nodded or said yes, but he was too scared to do anything but shrink away.

Something warm rasped at his ear, and Snowpaw tried to jump away, but a paw pressed down on his back and held him in place. He realized it was Brightclaw, standing over him. “Cinderpelt said you can lip-read,” she said. “Do you understand us?”

 _They don’t think I was spying on them on purpose,_ Snowpaw realized. _They think I’m too stupid to_.

Carefully keeping his expression lost and scared looking, Snowpaw gazed up at her with wide eyes and did not respond.

Brightclaw looked back up at Tigerstar, and her grip on Snowpaw eased. “See, I told you,” she said. “He has no idea what we were saying. We can just send him back to his mentor.”

Tigerstar looked behind them again - Cloudstone must have been speaking - but after a moment he nodded at Brightclaw, and she let Snowpaw up.

He didn't wait. He sprinted back to Sunningrocks.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, making him glad to be alive and unpunished, but for all that he was happy he had avoided the terrible fate of a dissenter… Snowpaw couldn’t help but be almost angry that he wasn’t punished. They would never have let Ashpaw or Fernpaw off scott-free for trying to eavesdrop.

He slowed down, putting his paws down deliberately, as a great wave of frustration crashed in his chest. _Why can't anyone just treat me like I’m normal?_


	41. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandstorm learns more about Tigerstar's rogues. Jag spots an opportunity. 
> 
> This chapter contains sexual harassment directed at a female character. The harassment is not sexualized and the way it is written is akin to how Bumblestripe was written in the canon books.

The ravine was a mess when they arrived back at it, and it didn't help that Tigerstar announced, rather unceremoniously, that the whole Clan would be staying there until further notice. Then he vanished into the leaders’ den, leaving every cat a little lost.

The dens were almost completely destroyed. There might have been some living parts of the plants that they were built from, buried under all that soot - but it was impossible to tell at this stage. The only spots that would still function as dens were the fallen log where the elders slept, the medicine den, and the leaders’ den under the Highrock. It didn't take the queens very long to start herding their kits towards the elders’ den, but it was quite clear to any observer that the rest of the Clan would be sleeping outside until they got organized.

A small group of Tigerstar’s supporters - Brightclaw, Cloudstone, Longtail, and Darkstripe - had gathered just in front of the Highrock. Sandstorm was tempted to edge over to them and try to listen in. But before she could do so, they broke up and started rounding up patrols. To her disappointment, Darkstripe beckoned her over to him, along with Runningwind and Thorntooth.

“We need to start cleaning this place up,” he said.

Sandstorm nodded, and waited for him to say something else, but he just stared back, unimpressed.

“Well? What else do you need?” Darkstripe snapped.

 _StarClan above._ Sandstorm knew the deputy’s leadership skills were abysmal, but this was almost impressive. “Aren’t you going to… I don’t know… direct us?” she said.

“What direction do you need? The ravine is a mess. Start cleaning it up,” he said, showing a bit of fang as he spoke.

“And what are _you_ doing?” Runningwind said, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“Supervising,” Darkstripe said importantly. With that, he stalked away to a sunny place near the apprentices’ stump and laid down.

Sandstorm bit back a sigh and glanced around, trying to assess what needed to be done. If they could clear the ash and soot from what remained of the dens, they might be able to tell how much of the structure underneath was still alive and might grow back, and how much needed to be replaced. Then they would need to actually do the replacing, but they would have to worry about that later. Another problem was all the broken branches in the hollow - they had cracked and fallen down the ravine during the fire, but many of them would be difficult to drag out again.

Her eyes landed on the tree that had fallen and almost crushed her and Tigerstar. It would certainly be too big to get rid of, so how could they integrate it better into the camp? Although its branches were burnt, they weren’t entirely destroyed…

Turning to Runningwind and Thorntooth, she flicked her ears at the tree. “Do you think we could roll that to the side of the clearing?” she said.

Runningwind gave her a doubtful look. “Maybe.”

“I bet I could if I had some help. Perhaps if we could convince Brightclaw to help out, or even Tigerstar,” Thorntooth added.

“Why do you ask?” Runningwind said.

“Look at the way its branches canopy,” Sandstorm said. “If we can snap away some of the unneeded twigs and get enough leaves and bracken to build a roof, it could make a pretty good den.”

Runningwind nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. I’ll get started on that,” he said. “Thorntooth, do you want to help?”

“Actually, that kind of seems like a job for one cat,” Sandstorm said quickly. “Thorntooth, maybe you could get some of the smaller logs and debris out of the clearing.” The golden-brown warrior nodded enthusiastically, obviously happy to have a chance to show off his strength. “I can start clearing away some of the embers from where the dens were,” she finished.

The toms both set off to do their jobs, but Sandstorm couldn’t help but to glance over to Darkstripe. Would he think she was trying to usurp his position? Leopardfur’s words about how _obvious_ the so-called true leader of ThunderClan was echoed in her mind. Had Darkstripe noticed whatever Leopardfur had? And if so, would he be feeling vengeful over it?

But her worries seemed to be for nothing, because he had fallen into a fitful sleep, his paws and whiskers twitching slightly. Sandstorm turned away to get to work.

By that evening, the camp was starting to look much more livable. It helped that Speckletail insisted on joining them in their construction work; despite her recent retirement, the freckled queen was apparently determined not to spend her time lying around.

It helped, too, that Brightclaw’s group was apparently venturing to the far reaches of the territory for the purpose of bringing back construction materials. They had found some surviving bracken up by Fourtrees, and moss near the RiverClan border. With those supplies, Runningwind, Speckletail, and Sandstorm were able to start weaving together a roof for the new den under the fallen tree, and Speckletail suggested that just a little more work it would make a good nursery, since the old one was burnt to a crisp.

Longtail’s patrol returned next, with prey to fill the empty fresh-kill pile, and finally Cloudstone appeared at the top of the ravine with Ashpaw stuck to his side like a burr.

Sandstorm glanced up from where she was scraping out hollows in the ground for temporary nests. She headed for the bottom of the trail down into the ravine and greeted Cloudstone and Ashpaw as they arrived. “Weren’t Swiftstrike and Jag with you earlier?” she said.

“They still are,” Ashpaw said.

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but decided to let it go; perhaps the other two toms were just a little behind. “What were you doing all day out in the forest?” she said. She had hoped that Cloudstone’s patrol might have been looking for building supplies like Brightclaw’s, but given that both Ashpaw and Cloudstone were carrying nothing, that seemed unlikely now.

Cloudstone cut into the conversation. “We were checking over the other camp and making sure ShadowClan and WindClan know this isn’t the time to invade. What were _you_ doing all day?” he added arrogantly.

“Making sure you have some place to sleep tonight,” Sandstorm snapped. 

Ashpaw coughed, catching both their attention, and nodded up at the top of the ravine. “There they are,” he said.

Sandstorm glanced up to see Jag and Swiftstrike standing at the lip of the ravine and looking uncertainly down. Between them they were carrying something heavy and dark. Her pelt prickled uncomfortably as she recognized the heft of a corpse. Her heart sank.

“A rogue caught in the fire?” she guessed.

Ashpaw and Cloudstone both glanced at her; the apprentice looked surprised, while Cloudstone was more appraising. “Scratch,” he said after a moment. “From the Owl Tree camp. We must have left him behind in all the chaos.”

 _Scratch._ Sandstorm had heard his name a few times before, but never met him. Cloudstone and Ashpaw left to make their reports to Tigerstar and Cinderpelt, but she kept standing at the entrance, watching Jag and Swiftstrike carry the rogue’s corpse into camp. He was another victim of Tigerstar’s tyranny, she thought. He’d been convinced to join Clan life in all its nobility and honor, only to be turned into a faceless enforcer and then forgotten.

They set the rogue down in the middle of camp, and Jag caught Sandstorm’s eye. His expression was unreadable, but it struck her that he must have known Scratch, must realize how pointless his friend’s death had been. The ginger tom had been nothing but nasty to her, but she had an _in_ now. Tentatively, she crept towards him.

Jag nodded to the body. “Makes you think, hm?” he said.

“Yes,” Sandstorm said, glancing at the corpse again. Then she saw something that made her blood run cold.

It was hard to recognize underneath all the ash matted in his fur, but that was not the face of just any rogue. That was _Clawface._

She looked at Jag again. Something in his eyes made it clear that he had registered her surprise, but his own expression didn’t change at all.

Had Clawface always been Scratch? But then, why? What the hell was going on? She held Jag’s gaze, almost too scared to look away - and perhaps silently hoping he would explain. But the ginger tom just stared at her with a gleam in his eye, almost as though he were daring her to say something.

The silence was broken by Cinderpelt as she approached with a mouthful of lavender. “Are you sitting vigil, Sandstorm?” she said, sounding confused.

“Er, no,” Sandstorm said, backing off. Had the medicine cat not seen Clawface? Or had she known and just not told anyone? Had he been there, lurking in the Owl Tree camp, for moons without Sandstorm’s knowing?

She stumbled away, mind spinning.

—

The next morning, Sandstorm was woken early by the sound of the elders waking up. They shuffled towards the two bodies in the center of camp - Clawface and Halftail - and picked them up, carrying them out into the forest and leaving the few cats who had sat vigil to shuffle away sleepily. Runningwind came up to Sandstorm and quietly told her that he wouldn't be helping with camp cleanup that day; she didn't have the heart to tell him he probably should have been informing Darkstripe, not her.

To her surprise, Jag wasn’t among those who had sat vigil; instead he had taken a temporary nest just a few paces away from her own. When she stood up, stretched, and started grooming herself, he lifted his head and watched her.

“You don’t need to spend so much time grooming,” he said. “Your fur is nice enough to attract any tom anyways.”

Sandstorm blinked, feeling a bit awkward. It was a compliment, but not one she quite wanted to take. “I’m trying to get the ash out of my pelt, thanks,” she said finally.

“I saw you with Dustpelt. What was that?” Jag said.

She paused. Last night, in an attempt to focus on something real rather than her own confusion, she had been talking with Runningwind about the camp cleanup. They had decided that they could use some cordgrass to weave better roofs. Afterwards, she had gone to speak with Dustpelt about it, since he was on Brightclaw’s supply-gathering patrol. But they had barely been able to meet one another’s eyes, and he hadn't even said anything in response, just given her a curt nod and then ignored her until she went away.

It was _embarrassing_. It was infuriating. He was being so childish.

“We’re… not seeing eye-to-eye on something,” she said.

“Trouble in paradise?” Jag asked. From any other cat, she might have interpreted the statement as a joke, if a mean one - but there was something in the way he was looking at her that bothered her. Something analytical. That gleam in his eye was back.

“I suppose,” Sandstorm said.

The dark ginger tom stood up and stretched, slow and deliberate. He was still watching her out of the corner of his eyes. “If he’s being an asshole, you could always find someone else to sire your kits,” he said. “It would be for the best anyways. There are much better fighters than him in this Clan. And any mollies you had with him would be tortoiseshells. Ugly color, if you ask me.”

“Oh, er, I’m not interested in kits right now,” Sandstorm said awkwardly.

“Don’t lie to me,” Jag said, standing up. There was a slight growl in his voice, one that made her the fur along Sandstorm’s spine stand up. “I know you’re building that new nursery. Do you know what that is? Motherly instinct. Every animal does it. Female rabbits dig warrens. Female foxes find burrows. Mollies make dens.”

 _So what, is Thorntooth expecting a litter?_ Sandstorm thought. She said nothing, just took a step back. She couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't outright hostile, and although she could fight Jag off easily if it came to that, she honestly wasn’t sure whose side Tigerstar would take. In fact… with how he had been talking to all the queens about having kits “for the good of the Clan,” there was a chance he was behind Jag’s sudden interest in her.

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed about it,” Jag continued, apparently oblivious to her discomfort, “provided you pick a suitable mate.”

“You know,” Sandstorm blurted, “Cinderpelt asked me to help her out this morning.” She didn’t wait for him to reply to hurry to the medicine den, managing to refrain from checking over her shoulder to see if he was still watching her. The way her pelt burned told her the answer without her having to look.

Sandstorm burst through the fern tunnel - which was largely unscathed, apart from heaps of ash settled on the gentle fronds - and Cinderpelt glanced up with alarm. “Sandstorm?” she said. “Are you all right?”

“Please come up with something for me to do in here until Cloudstone’s patrol leaves,” Sandstorm said.

Cinderpelt frowned, and beckoned Sandstorm to come over with her tail. “Come here.” Sandstorm obeyed and the medicine cat started to gently groom the fur along her spine back to flat. “What’s wrong?” Cinderpelt said.

“Jag seems to think that since I don’t currently have a belly full of Dustpelt’s kits, there’s an opening for him to father some instead,” Sandstorm growled.

“Yikes,” Cinderpelt said wisely. Sandstorm started to relax as the gray molly continued to groom her. Then, Cinderpelt pushed her head into Sandstorm’s neck just behind her ear and started to purr.

Sandstorm rolled away. “Er, what are you doing?” she said, a little embarrassed.

“Purring is a medicine like any other,” Cinderpelt explained. “It'll help you to relax and calm down. However, if you’d prefer I not do that, we can wait for Snowpaw to come back with herbs and see if he found any chamomile or thyme.”

“Well… it was kind of nice,” Sandstorm admitted. With a knowing smile, Cinderpelt settled in next to her, pressing her side up against Sandstorm’s, and resumed purring.

“Cinderpelt… why was Clawface in the Owl Tree camp?” she said. 

Cinderpelt pulled away to look her in the eye, obviously confused. “Er… same reason as Jag,” she said. “Tigerstar found them on the edges of the territory and asked them to join up, not that anyone was very happy about it. Wait, did you not know that?”

“Sort of,” Sandstorm said. “They told us his name was Scratch.”

Cinderpelt blinked. “StarClan, that’s messed up.”

“I know.” Sandstorm stared at her paws. It was so tiring, constantly re-litigating all of the awful things Tigerstar did in her head, always having to talk about him. She just wished things could go back to normal. But she knew well enough that nothing would go back to normal unless she did something about it. And taking action would make her feel better than talking, anyways.

“We should talk to Speckletail,” she said. “Try to get her to understand what’s going on. She’s been angry with Tigerstar ever since he put Snowpaw in the medicine den.”

Cinderpelt leaned back towards her and brushed her tail along Sandstorm’s back. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll do this, you know. We can do this. I promise.”

Sandstorm said nothing. She just hoped Cinderpelt was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, a quick update:   
> I know I just got back on a regular posting schedule, but I'm actually probably going to be posting stuff for AkitsuneLune/Pondfrost's FebrAUry event thru most of February, which means there might only be one or two updates on Brighter Fires over the next month. I will still be posting on Mondays all of next month, so the posting schedule will _technically_ be unbroken - those posts will just be mostly one-shot AU stories instead of this.  
> I'm very sorry to put this story on a delay again so soon after the last hiatus, and thank you guys so much for understanding! :D


	42. Fireheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireheart steps back. Yellowfang gets nosy. Tangleburr tells the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a small disclaimer: some of the plot threads introduced in the middle of this chapter won't necessarily be wrapped up in this story proper, if I don't get around to addressing them again before the end of act 4 rest assured i'll probably end up writing a one-shot about them

Fireheart pushed aside a wide, flat, smooth piece of Twoleg junk with his paw, revealing a box full of more stuff. He stuck his nose in, hoping there weren’t any rats hiding among the trash. But nothing jumped out at him, and all of the junk in the box was that same cool, smooth material that the Twolegs seemed to make almost everything out of. They felt like pieces of Moonstone against his nose.

He pulled out of the box and turned around to glance at Tangleburr. She was standing on the top of a nearby trash heap, squinting at the pinkish sunset. The fading light was giving her gray-and-cream fur an appealing softness.

It was three days after the fire in ThunderClan’s territory, and they were in Carrionplace, looking through the Twoleg trash. It was something Tangleburr had been talking about doing for a few days, but only now, seeing the contented smile on her face, did Fireheart realize how excited she had been for the whole thing. Maybe he should have noticed before, but it was still just as hard to read her as it had been the day they’d met.

Fireheart gave the box one last fruitless sniff - the stink of Carrionplace overwhelmed all other smells - and trotted up to the base of the trash heap Tangleburr was standing on. “What are we looking for again?” he said.

For a moment she didn’t look at him, just closed her eyes. Then, in a quick flash of movement, she jumped and slid down the trash heap and landed next to him. Shooting him a grin, she shook her fur out.

“Nothing in particular,” she said. “This isn’t a _mission_ or anything. Just… interesting things.”

“But what sorts of things?” Fireheart pressed. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

“Okay, well…” Tangleburr glanced around, then lit up as her eyes fell on something behind Fireheart. “Let me show you.”

She led him to some sort of wooden… thing, standing at the base of one of the trash heaps. It was carved into a strange shape, a little taller than him, and stained red in places. The longer Fireheart looked at it, the less he understood it. What possible purpose could this serve to a Twoleg?

Then Tangleburr hopped onto a small, flat piece on the object’s back, and it rocked gently back and forth with her on it. Fireheart jumped backwards, startled. She gave him a mischievous look.

“What _is_ that?” he said. “Why does it do that?”

Tangleburr hopped down from the wooden thing’s back and shrugged. “No idea. But it’s fun to try and keep your balance on it. Its feet are sort of curved, see?” she said, pointing with her tail. With another amused look, she added, “Would you like to give it a try?”

“No thanks,” Fireheart said, taking a step back. However easy Tangleburr had made it look, he didn't quite trust the Twoleg thing. “How did you know what to do with that thing, anyway?”

Tangleburr's smile faded, and he wasn’t quite sure why. “It’s been there a long time,” she said. Her tail drooped, and she padded off towards another trash heap.

Fireheart followed her, feeling guilty. If Tangleburr noticed, she said nothing, just started to paw through a soft sort of sack made of some black material that almost looked like fur.

“Look what’s in here,” she said, not turning around to look at him.

Fireheart came to stand awkwardly next to her, acutely aware of how their pelts were brushing. Inside the sack were a lot of ball-shaped, colorful objects made of a material he recognized as glass. They varied in size and pattern, almost mesmerizing in their variety. Fireheart suddenly forgot his frustration from a few moments before, too fascinated to be properly upset.

“The kits would love these, if we could only figure out a way to bring them back,” he said.

Before Tangleburr replied, there was a sound - a small chittering noise from behind them. Fireheart lifted his head and turned around, but he saw nothing. He tried to taste the air, but once again couldn’t pick up anything but the Carrionplace’s overwhelming rank.

Tangleburr bumped her shoulder against his. “What do you think?” she said. He realized she’d been talking while he was distracted.

“I didn’t hear you,” he admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “But, did you hear that?”

Tangleburr turned around too, ears pricked. After a moment the squeaking continued.

Just as Fireheart got a sudden, nasty feeling of what the noise was, it revealed itself - four huge, fat rats slid out from under a piece of trash that looked like a large brown leaf. Their tiny, black eyes glittered as they watched the cats.

Fireheart arched his back and fluffed out his fur threateningly, but none of the rats seemed frightened at all. The one in the lead started loping towards them.

Tangleburr tensed. “Come on,” she said. “It's not worth getting sick.” She started to back away towards the gap in the fence around Carrionplace, and Fireheart followed suit. The rats just stood and watched them go.

Unnerved, Fireheart didn't turn his back on Carrionplace until he was safely in the ferns. When he looked around, he saw that Tangleburr was already walking ahead. He bounded up to join her.

“That was lucky,” he said.

She hummed noncommittally, glancing up at the sky again. The sun was completely gone now, and the clouds were rapidly going from pinkish to dark gray.

“How did you know they wouldn’t follow us?” Fireheart said.

Tangleburr gave him another one of her unreadable looks, then glanced away and shrugged. It was all Fireheart could do not to lash his tail and hiss in frustration. Things were always like this with her - a conversation would seem to be going well, until he asked the wrong question and she went silent. But it was impossible to tell when he was headed the wrong way, because he had absolutely no idea why the things he asked upset her. 

_You’re the one who said you would leave her alone with all the questions,_ Fireheart reminded himself. If any cat was to blame for their awkward, stilted turns in conversation, it was him.

Tangleburr glanced back at him, and her ears drooped. “What do you think about what’s been going on in ThunderClan?” she offered. “It must be strange, having your old Clanmates back in camp - right?”

“I guess,” he said. “I’m mostly just happy to see them again. And glad they’re okay. What about Yellowfang? Was she a good medicine cat?”

Tangleburr scuffed the ground with her paw. “I don’t know.” 

“She was Fleetwhisker’s mentor, wasn't she?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Tangleburr hissed suddenly. She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

Suppressed frustration bubbled in Fireheart’s chest. “Doing _what_?” he demanded. “Making conversation?”

She shook her head. “Asking me all these questions.”

“Making conversation,” he said.

Tangleburr turned away, flicking her tail. “Never mind.”

“Because you asked _me_ a question like a minute ago.”

“I said never mind. Why can you never tell when to let something go?”

Fireheart stopped walking. “Why can’t you ever answer a simple question?” he said.

“They're not simple,” Tangleburr said. “Okay? I can’t explain it.”

“You can never explain anything,” he snapped. 

“I told you to let it go.” She spun on her heel to face him, fur bristling. “You don’t even know anything about me.”

“If I don't, it’s only because you don’t tell me,” Fireheart said.

“Fine, I get it,” Tangleburr spat.

But it was like a dam had opened, and Fireheart couldn’t ignore his building resentment any longer. “You can’t keep getting angry at me for being friendly with you. It’s not fair.”

“We’re not _friends_!” she exploded. “You haven’t even known me for three moons! _Fuck_!” She turned and in an instant, had disappeared into the bushes, leaving Fireheart feeling guilty and angry and annoyed all at once.

He sat down in the marsh and licked his chest self-consciously, trying to convince himself he hadn't done anything wrong and failing miserably. The orchestra of insects had quieted, and a purplish indigo was stealing over the sky. Soon the night patrols would be going. He needed to find something to do, to make himself useful for once.

When he made it back to camp, patrols were just dispersing. They all seemed full and perfectly happy to go on without him. Tangleburr was nowhere in sight.

Fireheart sat by the bush at the entrance of camp, nodding to Bouldernose and Whitethroat as they headed out. A few moments later, Ratclaw walked up to him, trying just a little too hard to look casual.

“Are you hunting tonight?” the younger warrior said.

Even though he hadn’t decided yet, Fireheart nodded.

“Do you want to come with Oakfur and Littlecloud and I? We’re going up towards Fourtrees.”

Fireheart shuffled his paws, tempted to say no, but he couldn’t find any excuse. “Sure,” he said finally.

They left soon after, heading for the tunnel under the Thunderpath on the side nearest WindClan’s territory. When they emerged, they were on the strip of forested ground between ThunderClan’s western border and the beginning of the moor. ShadowClan didn’t use this land very often, except to go to Gatherings; but Ratclaw always seemed to like to find the places which he thought were under-hunted in hopes of a larger haul, and Fireheart suspected he was behind the decision to patrol here.

As they walked, they kept having to slow down or stop entirely to wait for Littlecloud, who kept lagging behind to sniff at plants. The third time this happened, Ratclaw finally lashed his tail impatiently and said, “Why are you always sticking your nose up flowers anyways?”

Littlecloud flattened his ears and gave a feeble smile. “Well, nothing. It’s only that Runningnose said he was in need of marigold, and I thought since we were going to be in the forest tonight…”

“Are you a warrior or a medicine cat?” Ratclaw said crossly. 

“Oh, be quiet,” Oakfur said. “You two are going to scare off all the prey.” He ran his tail along Ratclaw’s side, and Ratscar glanced at him, expression softening. He sighed loudly and turned to keep walking, Oakfur following behind.

Littlecloud was still standing next to the yellow flowers, looking flustered, so Fireheart went to him. “Do you need help carrying that?” he said, angling his ears at the plant.

“No,” Littlecloud said, shaking his head. “I was only going to come back for it tomorrow. Plus I don’t even know if it’s really marigold, I haven’t been trained to identify plants… Ratclaw is right, I’m not a medicine cat.”

Fireheart wasn't sure what to say to that. He half wanted to sit down and work out Littlecloud’s problem, whatever it was, but then he remembered what Tangleburr had said to him earlier, and he decided it would be best to shut up. 

“Guess we’d better catch up,” he said, and he bounded off without checking to see if Littlecloud was even following.

The hunting wasn’t as good as Ratclaw had clearly been hoping, and they didn't come back with much. Fireheart only managed to catch a single sparrow. He was out of practice with forest hunting.

The others had had more success. When they delivered their catch to the fresh-kill pile, Ratclaw started arranging the prey, lips pressed in concentration.

“What are you doing that for?” Fireheart said, annoyed. He was sure the Clan wouldn’t much appreciate having to eat prey Ratclaw had already patted down.

The younger warrior narrowed his eyes. “No reason.” He glanced at Oakfur. “Did you see if Fernshade went on a border watch?”

“Not this again,” Littlecloud muttered, rolling his eyes.

Ratclaw jerked his head up and stepped towards Littlecloud. “Got something to say, mouseguts?”

“Stop it,” Oakfur said, stepping between them. 

Fireheart blinked. “What?”

Ratclaw peeked around Oakfur’s shoulder. The fur around his shoulders was slowly raising. “Littlecloud just thinks he’s better than everyone else because he can tell juniper berries and yew apart. Isn't that right, Littlecloud?”

Littlecloud flushed. “You’re just being an asshole because you’re embarrassed about your mommy issues.” Fireheart did a double-take at the tabby tom. Up to this moment, he had only known Littlecloud to be meek and soft-spoken. But now his round face was squeezed up in determination.

“Come and say that to my face,” Ratclaw said.

“I just did.”

“I said stop!” Oakfur said, shouldering Ratclaw back. He lashed his tail.

For a moment, Ratclaw and Littlecloud watched each other closely, then Ratclaw turned and walked away. As soon as he moved, Littlecloud left too, in the opposite direction.

Fireheart had no idea what had just happened. “What was that all about?” he said to Oakfur.

“They about summed it up,” Oakfur muttered. He heaved a sigh, then followed after Ratclaw.

Once more, Fireheart had the impulse to go after them, or after Littlecloud, and figure out what was going on. To try to work through their problem with them - or, if he was being honest, for them. But Tangleburr was right. He needed to stop sticking his nose in other cats’ business when they hadn’t asked him to, especially cats he barely knew. 

He wanted to apologize to her, but somehow felt like it wouldn’t be enough just to say he was sorry. 

—

Over the next week, the air turned chilly and the leaves on the trees and bushes started going yellow - except for the pines, which now stood out like dark monoliths against the pale yellow light of fall. The smell of sap, which was starting to ooze out of the trunks, now permeated the forest.

Fireheart didn't try to speak with Tangleburr yet - and he kept telling himself “yet” as the days dragged on. He just hadn't found the right moment. And she didn't seem keen on talking to him either. 

Instead he started going to Princess’s training sessions again. (She hadn’t improved much on any front, but she could at least keep her balance in battle training now.) He patrolled with Yellowfang and Whitestorm too. Spending time with them made him feel like a young warrior again, before everything had gone wrong. He told Yellowfang as much, and she had laughed at him for almost a full minute before telling him he was still young.

The cooling air brought with it new danger. Bouldernose came back one morning saying he’d smelled a fox on the territory, and it didn’t take long for the Clan to agree that they should track it down and make sure it left. And Fireheart ended up on a patrol with Yellowfang and Tangleburr.

They were supposed to search the hills leading onto WindClan territory, and they were quiet most of the way there. However awkward it might have been to have to talk to Tangleburr now, after accidentally ignoring her for a week, Fireheart thought that it must have been ten times worse with Yellowfang here side-eyeing him. She very clearly knew something was going on.

“Tangleburr,” the former medicine cat said suddenly. “Do you think the fox might have set up a den in one of those old badger sets, in the hills?”

Tangleburr blinked. “Maybe.”

“Badger sets?” Fireheart said.

“Oh, you don’t know where they are?” Yellowfang’s tail curled. “Tangleburr, you had better go show him. You two can check on the fox scent there, and I’ll head this way.”

“Er, sure,” Tangleburr said. She glanced at Fireheart just for a fraction of a second, then shrugged and disappeared into the bushes without waiting for him to follow.

He glared at Yellowfang. “Why did you do that?”

“You’ve been staring at her from across camp all week, kittypet.” She lifted one paw and licked it delicately.

“Because we've had an _argument_.”

“Sure,” Yellowfang said with a smirk. He didn’t say anything, and the smile dropped off her face. “Oh, StarClan. I thought you just didn't like _Sandstorm_. But you’re really just this oblivious, aren't you?”

Fireheart’s mouth dropped open for a second before he caught himself. “What was that about Sandstorm?” he said, thoughts swirling.

“Never mind. You’d better get going. That fox won’t track itself.”

He stood there for a moment, torn between asking more questions and doing as he was told. Finally he settled on sticking his tongue out crossly at Yellowfang. Her rasping laughter echoed in his ears as he walked away.

When he caught up with Tangleburr, she was about to come out of the bushes and start heading across flat ground to the hills. She didn’t say anything as he arrived. 

For a moment, the wind ruffled her fur, and he thought how soft it looked, how lovely the sun fell on her face. Then he realized what he was thinking, and his face felt suddenly hot. Was Yellowfang right about him and his staring? But then he remembered what else Yellowfang had said - and how Tangleburr had told him to leave her alone - and his thoughts muddled again.

“Tangleburr…” he said.

“Don’t talk,” she said quietly. He obeyed, but she didn’t speak either. She started across the grass to the hills, and he followed.

Just around the turn of one of the hills, there was a small, dark hole in the earth, just large enough to accommodate the width of a badger. It was like a pock mark on the surface of the hill. It smelled strongly of badger and wet dirt. Tangleburr stopped in front of it.

“I don’t smell fox,” she said. “Do you?”

His heart sank. This was it, then. She wasn't willing to talk things over. If they weren’t friends before, they certainly would never be now.

“I don’t,” he said. “But maybe we’d better go inside and make sure.”

She shrugged, so he led the way into the set. The ground felt damp and a little gritty under his paws. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

Tangleburr stood at his side, an inch away - but in the cramped den, that inch felt like a mile. She put her head down and sniffed at the ground. “I still don't smell any fox,” she said.

“Listen,” he said.

She flashed him a wary look, yellow eyes glowing in the dark, but she didn't say anything, so he pressed on. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I’m not always very understanding.”

To his surprise, Tangleburr snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

“So… wait. You’re not angry with me?”

“Oh, I am,” she said. “But not for anything like that.”

“I’m trying to apologize to you here,” he said.

“Go on, then.”

He let out a long breath through his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry… for trying so hard to make you be my friend. For being nosy. I won’t do that anymore. I’ll leave you alone, if that's what you want.”

Tangleburr shifted her weight. “It’s not,” she said. “This is… hard for me. I know I’m frustrating to talk to.”

“Only because I never know what I’m not supposed to ask you about,” he said, indignation rising in spite of himself.

She was staring at her paws. “I don’t… I have no idea how to tell you. Even when I want to, I don’t want to.” She looked up at him again intensely. Fireheart was suddenly very aware of the way he was breathing. “I was one of Brokenstar’s supporters. You know that, right? I’m not a good cat, Fireheart.”

He stretched his toes out from his paws until they almost hurt, wanting her not to feel bad and having absolutely no idea what to do about it.

What he really wanted was to press his pelt against hers. Her fur looked so soft. But he was afraid that if he did that - that if he touched her at all - she would twist away and the moment would be broken, they’d go on looking for foxes.

“I don’t care,” he said. He held her gaze. “I want us to be friends.”

“I’m not in the habit of making friends,” she said softly.

Fireheart shook his head. “I want us to be friends,” he repeated. “But I can't keep tiptoeing. You have to at least tell me what to avoid.”

She hesitated.

“Do you know why I knew how to balance on that piece of Twoleg trash we found?” she said. “I used to go to Carrionplace when I was younger. With Deerfoot - my sister - and Brokentail. Not hunting, just causing trouble. It was there then.”

Immediately Fireheart had questions. He kept his mouth shut.

“We used to provoke the rats to scare each other,” she said slowly. “After a few times, I had memorized exactly how far to run outside Carrionplace to get them to quit chasing me.” She finally looked away from him, her shoulders slumping. “I missed her vigil. Because I left with Brokenstar. I told myself I was just following orders, because I wanted to protect my family. But then I chose him.”

Silence hung in the air for a long moment.

“Say something. Please,” Tangleburr said.

Fireheart leaned forward, lifting one paw and reaching towards hers. He held it there for a moment, unsure. Then he laid his paw on hers and pressed down gently. His heart was thudding in his chest, but he felt calm. It was like the bad air was clearing out of the den.

A shadow fell over the entrance, and Fireheart jumped. “I’m not _interrupting_ anything, I hope,” Yellowfang said, sounding amused.

Fireheart forced the fur on his back to flatten. He and Tangleburr came out of the set. “We didn’t find any fox scent there,” he said, a little loudly.

“I thought not,” Yellowfang said. “I tracked it heading south until it crossed the Thunderpath. Looks like we don’t have anything to worry about after all.”

“The Clan will be pleased to hear that,” Tangleburr muttered. 

She gave her chest fur a lick, then started walking towards the trees, leaving Yellowfang and Fireheart to catch up.

Yellowfang caught his eye and very deliberately raised her eyebrow. Fireheart made a face at her. She rolled her eyes, and bumped her shoulder against his, then nodded back at the badger set, whiskers still twitching with curiosity. He suppressed a smile and looked away, a little embarrassed.

Tangleburr was waiting for them at the tree line. “Are we going back to camp, or what?” she said. He didn’t think he mistook the amusement in her voice.

“Of course,” Fireheart said, bounding up to her. “Let’s go.”

He fell into step behind her, close enough that their pelts brushed. This time, it didn’t feel quite so awkward.


End file.
